


veritas vos liberabit

by rxrngcnt



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Bad Spanish, Badly Written Smut, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut, benson is a proud mother, carisi is lowkey jealous, cute shit, fin is doing just fine, rollins is surprisingly ok, smut in the first fucking chapter you’re welcome, this entire story is an excuse for me to write softcore porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-04-17 20:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14197341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxrngcnt/pseuds/rxrngcnt
Summary: They met at a bar. The rest is history, from Twenty Five Acts to The Undiscovered Country.





	1. twenty five acts

**Author's Note:**

> _"this morning, with her, having coffee"_
> 
>  
> 
> **\- Johnny Cash, when asked his definition of paradise**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gave you guys sex in chapter one. you’re so fucking welcome.
> 
> First chapter takes place in s14ep3

Rafael is on a high. Even though this case was relatively easy from the standpoint of a prosecutor, the feeling of winning never gets old. His “opponent”—a defense attorney that was state-appointed, gives him a disgruntled look as they pack up their briefcases. He then goes on some sort of tangent about prosecuting the guy for aggravated assault, and after about five seconds all he wants to do is shut this guy up. Obviously, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“ _Your_ client. A jury takes one look at the simian carriage, the neanderthal jaw—I'll get him convicted of kidnapping the Lindbergh baby. So how about he takes ten and spares us all the humiliation?” The guy bristles a little, but soon the look of defeat clings to his face as he looks at his client being led away in handcuffs.

“Call you in the morning,” he says, clearly exasperated. He smirks at this, walking away without a care in the world when he spots two very important people coming towards him at the same time: the captain of the NYPD’s Special Victim’s Unit and his girlfriend. Who should he go to first: Work or Personal? He picks work after a nanosecond of deliberation. He was in a working mindset, and his “girlfriend” wasn’t really his girlfriend: more of someone to call up when he needed a bit of stress relief—stress relief being code for a good fuck. She still came to some of his court cases, and they did do things outside of just sex, but neither of them was prepared to make it an official thing. After all, he was a prosecutor, and she was a psychologist. They had plenty more things to worry about than the state of their relationship.

These thoughts flood his head as he approaches the temporary Captain.

“Captain. Take your daughters to work day?” he asks teasingly.

“Detectives Benson and Rollins, Rafael Barba. I lied and told them that you know your way around a courtroom.” He shakes their hands, but before he can discuss things any further a figure appears next to Rafael. It’s his girlfriend, an accusatory look on her face.

“Work trumps me, huh?” she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Nice job, though. You could feel the defense crumble from a mile away.” Noticing the detectives and the captain, she straightens up. “Captain. Nice to see you again. How’s the knee injury?” At this, his face morphs into one of confusion.

“How the hell did you know I had a knee problem?”

“Your limp. It’s subtle, sure, and you’ve opted for looser suit pants than normal, presumably because they help to cover it all up. It doesn’t come from a hurt foot though, or else the way that you walked would be a lot shakier and uneven. Because you’ve put more weight on your right leg, it’s obviously your left that’s in pain. But how much pain? Judging by the way you clench your left hand whenever your left leg hits the ground, it can be inferred that your left leg hurts, for lack of a better word, like a bitch. The only part of your leg that would cause that amount of pain would be your knee, so I’ll ask you again: how’s your knee doing?”

He doesn’t respond, the look of shock painting his face. Rafael sighs, begrudgingly gesturing to the woman on his right.

“Detectives, meet my.....friend, Camila Martínez. Camila, meet SVU detectives Benson and Rollins.” She gives them a smile and a short wave.

“How’d you know all that stuff?” Rollins blurts out, earning a side-eye from the other detective and the captain.

“My dad was FBI,” she responds. “He always told me that the first rule of survival was to notice things.” Rollins, clearly impressed, says nothing further. “I have to go, Rafi. Got a 4 o’ clock with an army veteran with PTSD.” She leans into him to whisper something into his ear. “Wanna see you tonight, _guapo_. My place or yours?” He blushes slightly at this but keeps a straight face in order to not tip off the detectives about what they were talking about.

“Mine. Wear something good,” he whispers back, a lopsided smirk on his face. She bites her lip at this, cogs in her brain turning at what to show up in to achieve maximum torture points. 

“Got it. See you—oh, and nice to meet you, detectives. Captain, there’s a physical therapy place near my office, highly effective. Here’s my card, call me if you need help,” she says, winking playfully. The captain, still looking a bit shocked, nods his head in thanks, albeit slowly. She walks off afterward, leaving Rafael with the police.

“Let’s get to work, then,” he says, already pushing away recent events. After all, he was a successful ADA. He didn’t get into Harvard by flirting. _Well actually_ , his mind says. _There was that one admissions offi_ —he pushes the thought away. If the Captain of such an elite detective unit makes a house call, it must be damn important.

And good God, Rafael Barba better be considered important. He deserved that much, if not more.

* * *

The Jocelyn Paley case was difficult, to say the least. After being briefed by the SVU team—Amanda Rollins, Nick Amaro, Fin Tutuola, John Munch and Olivia Benson, he was ready to sink into a nice double shot of scotch. But _no_ , he had to do work like a responsible adult. Taking out the paperwork that was given to him about the Paley case, he skims it for a good minute and a half before giving up, sighing in defeat. With his current mood, he would never be able to finish this casework, much less help the team get an arraignment. His next thought snaps him out of this funk, though. Checking the time on his Rolex, he jumps up, grabs his coat, spills the case file and startles his secretary, Carmen. He has to go. Now. He has a very special girl to see.

He speedwalks into his apartment building, tapping his foot impatiently on the floor of the elevator and practically runs to his doorway, where he almost collides with Camila, who’s leaning next to his door.

“Took you long enough, asshole.”

“Thought I told you to wear something good,” Rafael retorts, looking at her long trench coat and her bare legs.

“I did. Wait ‘til you see what’s under the coat.” He shudders at this, and hurriedly finds his keys as she buries her face in his neck, sucking and nibbling, making his hands shake. Finally they get inside the apartment and immediately he pushes her up against the wall. Sure, he’s not the tallest guy, but he has about three or four inches on her, making it easy for him to dominate. He meets her lips hungrily, tongues dancing together as he moves his mouth to her neck, making her arch up when he hits a sensitive spot. "Want you now, _cariña_ ," he says, mumbling against her chest. In response, she leads him to his bedroom, where she sits him down at the edge of the bed, telling him to “look, not touch.”

She slowly unbuttons her jacket and lets it fall to the ground, it pooling around her feet. At the sight of his girl in head to toe black lace, he could swear that his heart stopped beating for a second. Yes, she was so hot that he would bet anything that he had died for a second there.

“So what do you think, Counselor?” she purrs, swinging her hips as she approaches him and sits on his lap, feeling satisfied and a little cocky when she feels him hardening against her. He looks at her in awe for a second, and then his eyes darken, and he grips her hips tightly, a smirk on his face that sends heat rushing to Camila’s core.

“How much did this little number set you back?”  
   
“About a hundred, why?”  
   
He shrugged, “Just wondering if you’d mind terribly if I ripped them off right about now.” At this, she returns his smirk. 

“Not at all, Counselor. Have it your way.” His eyes flash again. The way she purrs his title is enough for him to melt under her touch. But he doesn’t allow it. He does, however, flip her over onto the bed and spread her legs for him. With one hand, he removes his jacket and shirt, while with the other hand he slides her underwear down, exposing her core. It’s dripping wet, and he laughs to himself, feeling quite good about himself that he could get her that hot and bothered. 

He slides his palm up her thigh, grabbing a handful of her ass, as he leaves open-mouthed kisses along her inner thigh, everywhere but where she needed it the most.

“Rafael, don’t tease.” she whines out, sounding needy already. The needier she was, the harder he got, so in this case, he was totally ok with it.

"I thought it was _papi_?" He smirks cockily as his index finger traced circles on her inner thighs.

"I'll call you Jesus if you make me feel like I felt last week."

He laughs softly at this, moving his hand further and further up her thigh. She moans and her hips thrust towards his mouth. At that moment he gives in—partially. He licks her slit and she visibly shudders, inching forward and spreading her legs wider. He could have died right there; the sight of his girlfriend with her legs spread, wordlessly, but not silently asking him to taste her was an image that he wanted to be imprinted in his brain forever. 

By the time she came, Rafael was so hard that it genuinely hurt. So hard, in fact, that he honestly wasn’t above begging. She’d barely finished before she started at his pants. As she did, he removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth—tasting them because he wanted to, of course, but also to see the look on her face when he did. He isn’t disappointed. Slack-jawed and hungry-eyed, she stares at him for a couple moments before leaning in for a hot, sloppy kiss as she sinks to the floor yet again. She bites his lip again, hard, and draws him from his pants at the same time.

“Fucking hell,” he groans when her hand makes contact with his cock. “You’re a fuckin’ goddess.” She silences him quickly when her wet mouth takes him in. His breath catches in his throat as she gives him kitten licks, stroking him slowly at first, but then picking up speed just so she can hear his moans get louder and higher. She stops, though, leaving Rafael’s cock wet and his hands in her hair. He growls at her for not finishing him off but drags her up to the bed all the same. Goddamnit, he can never stay mad at her. He lies on his back leisurely, giving her the look that a starving man would give to a three-course meal.

“You want to come again, huh? Well, work for it.”

She shudders at his tone, but climbs on him, sinking down onto him and letting out a low moan of his name. 

“ _Mierda_ ,” she moans, moving up and down his length slowly, in order to tease him to the max.

“Faster,” he commands, forcing the words out through his teeth.

Neither spoke again for a while. He had one hand under her thigh, kneading and squeezing her round ass, while the other cradles her back. He can’t stop looking at her, can’t get enough of the feel of her walls and taste of her center. His hand moves from her back to her clit, and rubs it harshly, bringing her closer and closer.

"Fuck!" she pants. "Oh fuck, I'm—" She bites her lip, hard, and her head falls back with a soft moan of his name.

"Look at me," he rasps. "Look at me when you come."

Her chin drops. He strokes her hipbone with his thumb and nips at her fingertips. She mouthes his name, and grinds against him in an urgent rhythm.

"Good," he says, thrusting up to meet her. "That's good, good girl, don't stop."

"Yes! Fuck, Rafi, I—yes!" She shuddered, and when she went still he grabbed her hips and yanked her down, rocking up against her to coax the orgasm higher. Deeper. Longer. At last, she began to come down from her high, and she falls against him with several sharp gasps. With a couple more thrusts, he spills inside of her, thanking all that was holy for her IUD.

She rolls off him slowly, wincing a little as she feels the tightness in her thighs. He watches her as she eases herself off, eyes noticing his liquid drip out of her center. This makes him smile in the cockiest, self-assured way humanly possible.

“That’s a pretty sight,” he rasps. 

“Get used to it, Barba. Can I stay the night? I swear I’ll help you in the morning,” she simpers, hand already stroking his face.

Of course, he lets her stay. After all, he can never say no to her—especially when she’s completely naked and in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spanish stuff:
> 
> 1\. guapo: handsome
> 
> 2\. cariña: love
> 
> 3\. papi: daddy (im not writing this man as having a daddy kink i REFUSE to sink that low)
> 
> 4\. mierda: shit / fuck


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after, feat. mentions of the court case. still set in s14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"your hands touching mine. this is how galaxies collide"_

Camila wakes up to an extreme soreness in her thighs. Jesus, it was awful. It was the good kind of pain, though—she wasn’t complaining. Would she take back the activities of last night in order to have a body that didn’t ache from the waist down? _Absolutely fucking not_. Rolling over, she pokes and prods Rafael’s face until he groans lightly and opens up an eye. He cracks a small smile at her.

“The hell are you doing?” he says, groggily sitting up.

“Trying to get you awake, idiot. It’s 7, and we both have to leave at 8.” His face morphs into one of terror. 

“Are you telling me that I have one hour to get to work?” She rolls her eyes.

“Yes, that appears to be what the situation is,” she deadpans. His shock escalates.

“How am I supposed to change, get my coffee, clean up my office and have sex with you in one hour?” She laughs loudly, shocking Rafael a little bit. He doesn’t think that she’s ever laughed that hard in the year that they’ve been doing this. 

“That’s what you’re worried about, Rafi? _Morning sex?_ Jeez, you really are a typical guy.” He rolls his eyes at this.

“I happen to have a penis, so it would be a little worrying if I wasn’t a guy,” he says sarcastically.

“Oh trust me, I know exactly what you have,” she says with a wink. “Here, I’ll make coffee while you put on one of your ridiculously complicated and expensive suits.” He smiles in appreciation, and they both roll out of bed, him slipping on his dress shirt from last night, and her pulling on a pair of his sweatpants and her bra. 

“Wait, how are you going to go to work in sweats?” 

“My first appointment is at 12, Rafi. I’m just leaving early so I can drop in for a little, maybe get to know the squad. Who knows, maybe you’ll need my psychological powers for the trial,” she says with a teasing grin.

She walks into his kitchen and puts a pot of coffee on, and spends her remaining time taking off and reapplying her makeup, with the help of the couple of products she had left at his place the last time she’d stayed over. Just as she puts on a coat of lipstick, the coffee pots dings and Rafael comes out of the shower, hair wet but suit on.

She pouts at the sight. “You know, that shower would’ve been so much more fun if I’d been in there.” He crossed to the room and presses light kisses on her jawline.

“Next morning shower, I’ll make sure to include you, _monada_.” She bites her lip suggestively, and this time it was her turn to leave open mouth kisses on his neck, hovering dangerously close to the collar of his shirt. “I’ll get the coffee, you need to put on a shirt before we leave.” Nodding in agreement, she slips on one of his Harvard Law shirts and a pair of his slides (three sizes too big, but Camila will make do). She can hear him humming a song from the kitchen, and she immediately recognizes it as an old rap song. This surprises her, to say the least. Rafael Barba did not seem the type to listen to rap. She waltzes into the kitchen, preparing to ask him what the hell kind of music he listens to when he stops her before she can open her mouth, a guilty look on his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, ‘Mila. It hypes me up before trial.”

She hates that he's even got to justify what he listens to or sings. She hates that she doesn't even know what he likes to listen to. And most of all, she hates that they don't know shit about each other. Instead of voicing her hatred, though, she pushes it away and responds normally. “It’s not bad, Rafi—I love this song. Didn’t know that we liked the same music, is all. Now grab a cup, we have to be on the move—you have a trial today.”

They exit together.

* * *

Yeah, Rafael had to be choked with a belt to win a case. 

Was it legally appropriate? Was it necessary for the case? Did it feel nice? Was he willing to do it again? Did it make the jury see Jocelyn’s side? No, no, no, no and yes. His personal top ten list of cases did not include this one. He had to admit that it was one of the more interesting ones, though. It was challenging, and it felt good to win a case that he had solved with a new team. It gave them confidence in him and boosted his already gargantuan ego. All in all, Rafael Barba was a happy prosecutor.

After speaking to the paparazzi for a minute or two, he walks to one of the waiting cabs. He’s about to step in when he hears his name being yelled. 

“Counselor! How’d it go?”

He turns around and again almost crashes into his fuck buddy. With her mussed hair, pencil skirt and slightly low cut blouse, at that moment he wants nothing more than to drag her into his office and bend her over the desk. That’s not on her mind, though—the case is. “It was good. Got choked by a rapist, but otherwise, it was uneventful.”

“ _Excuse me?_ Rafael Barba, you did _not_ seriously do that to win a cas—oh my god, you fucking did.” He laughs at this.

“Guilty,” he says with a wink. “You wanna go grab a drink? There’s a really good dive bar that’s like, a five-minute drive from here.”

“Wish I could, but I’ve got a teenage girl to cheer up. She just got out of the hospital. Rain check?” He agrees. Her job meant the world to her, just like his job meant the world to him. They were more similar than he thought. After all, they were both in the business of helping people, just in different ways. He puts away the bad guys, and she helps their victims. Shame that they weren’t dating—they would’ve been a real power couple. She gives him a peck as a good-bye and steals his cab.

Where to now? He’s got a couple hours to kill, and he doesn’t know what to do. Then, for the second time in five minutes, his name’s being called.

“Counselor! Wanna grab a drink with us?” It’s the team. Amaro, Benson, Rollins, Munch, and Tutuola were walking down the steps of the court towards him, already celebrating. He cracks a smile, a genuine smile, and agrees.

“As long as there’s scotch, I’m in.”

The team walks into the bar, chatting and laughing quietly the whole way through. Rafael feels slightly out of place here—they had known each other for more than a year—but with one smile from Benson and a joke about his suspenders, he knew that they would get along just fine.

He hasn’t had a stable group of friends, no, a _family_ since law school. This group, he thinks, might be the solution.

And hey, after all, anything involving a good glass of whiskey was something worth keeping around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter ngl
> 
> 1\. monada: beauty


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rafael and camila both need hugs + a new case is introduced. set in s16 (yeah issa time jump)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"tripped over luck, stumbled upon tragedy"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **\- a six word story**

Rafael Barba needs a fucking break. 

After all the protests from workers demanding higher wages, shorter hours and more vacation days, you’d think that mindset would have made it’s way around to the DA’s office by now. He of all people should know how hard it is to be an ADA. Moving from the Brooklyn office to the Manhattan one was challenging enough without the new cases, new team, and new relationship that all seemed to come crashing down on him simultaneously. To the DA’s defense, the pay was great, making his life very comfortable when it comes to material things.

Besides, his silver Rolex, two thousand dollar suits, and cashmere sweaters were perks that could not be neglected by the average man. However, the hours that he had to suffer through made him want to hang himself from the vintage chandelier (which was probably worth more than everything in his house combined) in his office. Take the hours, factor in the need for social contact with other living, breathing, bodies and combine his want for…. _contact_ , and you’ve got an ADA that’s frustrated—in more than one way.

Anyways.

It’s not like he could take up his want for an early vacation right now. After the Jocelyn Paley case, the DA had all but erected a shrine in his name outside the office. Apparently getting a conviction on one’s first case in a new borough in a big city involving an even bigger defendant and his gargantuan antics was something that hasn’t been seen in a while. Like, since the 70’s _a while_. So yeah, from the outside Rafael had little to no reason to want to commit seppuku with his pen. But anyone that has ever been in any sort of position of power knows for a fact that nothing is what meets the eye. 

Sure, Rafael had the million-dollar apartment, the custom, hand-tailored suits and the expensive scotch, but he had worked damn hard and had pulled way too many all-nighters to get to that point. Currently, in his early forties, he’s counted out twenty-three grey hairs. That’s twenty-three more than there should be. He likes to think that one grey hair appears for every sex crime that Manhattan SVU decides to take up with him.

Since the Paley situation, he’s gone through his fair share of cases with the Special Victims Unit, including, but not limited to: the one where some asshat had kidnapped a girl from a college party in Manhattan, the one where the massive cover-up of teenage boy sexual abuse was demolished by one man, the one where a rape victim shoots her rapist-slash-ex-husband, and, of course, the one where he had to convince a judge and jury that a gay man who had a concerning habit of raping and stabbing closeted men happened to hate his own kind. Now _that_ one was memorable. The one that’s making him consider hiring a hitman on himself isn’t one of the past cases, though.

It’s the case that he and SVU are pursuing currently—a gay son alleging that his two dad’s (also gay) had been sodomizing him against his will in the living room of their brownstone every weekend for the past two months.

Yeah, this case was making him want to drink his scotch ’til he passes out cold. There were just _so many fucking complications_ with this case. For starters, the credibility of the victim, Allen Strokes. Allen was a pathological liar as a child, and he often made up stories, everything from how his teacher was an alien to the secret conspiracy that he was part dog. Sure, he eventually grew out of it, but Rafael knows that the defense will lather it up to make it into a bigger deal than it actually is. Second problem: the stellar reputation of the parents. 

Dad Number One, Thom Cutwell, came from Harlem, worked hard enough to get into NYU, and was the subject of slander on the campus because of his sexual orientation. Dad Number Two, Felix Strokes, was a star student from the Upper East Side, who also went to NYU. His homophobic views were shattered when he met Thom, and Rafael knew that the jury would fall all over themselves for this fairy tale-esque story. Then, of course, there was the DNA. Namely, the absence of any DNA on or around Allen’s nether regions.

This was adding up to be an _exquisite_ case. One that he wasn’t even sure why he’d taken. Maybe it was because he likes Allen—he was sweet, likable and a little sassy. Maybe it was because Liv was so passionate about getting the couple locked up. Or maybe—just maybe, it was about how much the two dads resemble Rafael’s father. They had the perfect façade, the perfect cover story, the perfect image. Young, attractive men who came from nothing and became something. It’s beautiful and sickening to Rafael all at once. It was like seeing a movie with a major twist at the end for the second time. It was like seeing someone blessed with the gift of eloquence stumble over their words in front of 20,000 people. 

In short, it was awful. This case was awful. He had to work, and so did the squad. If it comes down to it, hell, he’ll even ask Camila to help. 

Guess it’s come down to it.

* * *

Camila is very frustrated. Very, very frustrated. It was 3 AM on a Monday night, and she was sound asleep after going over ten different case files for ten different mentally ill teenagers when he called. It was tough, being a psychologist that treated so many different types of patients. Some practicing psychologists only treat adults, some only children, some only teens, and some only the elderly. She, on the other hand, treats everyone age 50 and below, for any mental illness. Yeah, any. 

She’s seen her fair share of anxiety and MDD patients, but also the ones with psychosis, the ones with BPD, the ones with symptoms that the media ignores, the ones with issues that family’s shun them for, the ones with the illnesses that make them see things, the ones with the illnesses that make them scream at things in the night, and the ones with illnesses that made them do anything and everything. Yes, she truly has seen it all.

Or so she thought.

When she began fucking around with one of Manhattan’s ADA’s, she’d sort of known that it would be….different, to say the least. 

If only she’d known exactly how different.

Officially, they couldn’t discuss any of their work to the other person. In her case, it was patient confidentiality, and in his case, it was attorney-client privilege. But both of them didn’t get where they are now by following the rules. Sure, most of the times when they were together they didn’t speak much. Most of the time they were in a bed, or on the floor, or against a table, or even next to the refrigerator. But sometimes, they craved more. Camila knew that the both of them were not in any sort of shape for a relationship, but she did know that she trusted him. She really did. So much, in fact, that she had broken her confidentiality rule to confide in him for a couple of the people that she worried about.

Take Jeremy Christiansen, for instance. Jeremy was severely depressed, with the scars to prove it. He spoke about taking his own life for four years while in her care but never acted on it. One day he came in happier than usual; making conversation, chatting and laughing with the people in the waiting room, and generally exhibiting signs of a full recovery. Camila had sensed something wrong, though. All throughout the rest of the day, she’d felt like she was missing something—that something was wrong. And there was something wrong. Jeremy succeeded in killing himself later that night.

Or he would have if it wasn’t for the extraordinary mind of Rafael Barba, her sort-of-but-not-really-boyfriend.

Now, she wasn’t in the business of dishing out compliments when the person didn’t deserve them. In that case, the title of ‘extraordinary’ was well deserved by the ADA. She fully intended on coming home after a long day of work and having a good two hour session of sex with the attractive Counselor, but she was overcome with stress and fatigue as soon as she walked through his door. Just the mere look on her face of dread made him worry. It made him carry her to his bed, serve her cold water and popcorn, put on some _Gossip Girl_ , and listen to her day. He thought that her day so far seemed about as stressful as her others. Until, of course, she reached the topic of Jeremy.

Instantaneously he knew that something was up. In every hostage situation, he explained, the kidnapper, after deciding to go down by his own means, will exhibit a drastic change in behavior. They may go from angry to sad, from sad to happy, et cetera. 

At this, Camila jumped up, almost punching Rafael in the face.

“I have his address, Rafael. We've gotta find him before he dies. _We have to_.”

And he agrees. They sped off, and it took some driving, walking, climbing and some sweet talk from both Camila and Rafael in order to get Jeremy off of a ledge and into their arms.

For some reason, this was what was in the back of her mind as she debates what expletive to use when greeting Rafael.

“Hey,” he said, sounding weirdly awake considering that it was early morning.

“Fucker. What do you want? It’s 3 in the morning!” She yells, and she can practically hear Barba wince on the other side.

“Sorry, sorry. I just really need your help with this case. It’s a rough one, and I think that there might be some family dynamic or mental problems here.” At this she perks up, instantly awake.

“Great. Fill me in.” She says, adopting a business tone of voice. As he speaks, she grows more and more worried. This is the case that he chose to take? A blatant ‘he-said they-said’ rape case? Sometimes he really did seem suicidal when it came to his case choices. She went silent after getting all the facts. The information was whizzing around in her head, combining with what she already knows about power dynamics, human nature, and self-preservation. After what seemed like forever, she sighed loudly in defeat. “I swear I’m trying, Raf. It’s just not happening. Remind me why you took this case again?” He laughs softly, saying something about his need to prove people wrong.

Mulling over the facts in her head, she decided to approach it from a new angle—an angle that involved the past of the father’s themselves. Rafael had told her that the squad had gone back into their personal records, but she knew for a fact that they wouldn’t have looked at their feelings towards themselves and others at that times. They were gay teens growing up in New York City, for Christ’s sake. It was bound to be hard for them.

And that’s when it hits her.

“Rafi? I think I’ve got something.”


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> majority of this story is gonna take place with these characters. bye amaro and munch ily tho. set in s16.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **sophrosyne (n.)**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _a healthy state of mind, characterized by self-control, moderation, and a deep awareness of one's true self, and resulting in true happiness_

The sun shines through the blinds of the precinct as Rafael and Camila walk through the doors of the venue. One would expect her to be perturbed, considering the presence of ‘New York City’s Finest’, but she’d been visiting every week since the Paley case. She’d become good friends with the new guy, Dominick "Sonny" Carisi (much to the chagrin of her “boyfriend”), and they often got drinks together at Nitecap, a bar in Lower Manhattan that they’d discovered together. When she first met him, she found him disingenuous, glib even. Getting to know him, however, changed her perception of both him and the squad as a whole. 

Rafael was a _little_ jealous of this, but two things stop him from saying anything: the fact that his best friend was the attractive and smart Olivia Benson, and the reality that him and Camila weren’t even officially together. He had tried to convince himself that it didn’t hurt to see her happy with another guy, albeit her friend, but to no avail. He refused to admit that he had feelings that went beyond their current situation, though. Rafael was stubborn—that’s what made him such a good prosecutor.

Regardless of this, he had brought her to the precinct for a reason. She’s brimming with incitation. The information that Barba and she had dug up at 4 in the morning last night was enough to advance the case significantly. This wasn’t the first time that she’d provided an opinion on cases with the squad, but it _was_ the first time that she would have the opportunity to influence a criminal investigation.

“Hey, ‘Mila. How’s it going?” Asks Carisi as he notices her and Barba walk in. “Oh yeah, hey Counselor.” He adds on as an afterthought, silently cringing. He gives him a curt nod, more standoffish than usual, but she gives him a warm smile.

“I’ve got something for the squad, Sonny. It’s big.” With this, she walks after Rafael, cheeks pink from the cold. He looks on after her, and if someone were to look at him at this moment, they would call his expression one of appetence. Longing. Yearning, even. Even though they’re just friends, Carisi _really_ wants to be the guy walking in with her. Then he remembers why she’s even here—the case. The thought of a gay teenager being sodomized by his own parents was sickening. He’d worked on a lot of cases with SVU since transferring here from Homicide, but this particular one was bad.

“Carisi! Come on, we’ve got a possible development!” shouts Rollins. Snapped back to reality, he walks into the room, greeted with the whole squad (plus Barba and Camila). “Martínez, go on."

“Ok, so Barba and I went through the case files over the phone together last night, and part of the file was about the past of one of the dad’s, Thom Cutwell. Yeah, he’s Machiavellian to a T, but the defense will use his past to make the jury feel sorry for him, correct?” Not waiting for an answer from the squad, she rushes ahead, talking faster and getting more excited. “So I thought, ‘how can we turn this into something good for the prosecution?’ Sure, one of the champion reasons for the abuse can be linked back to the bullying, but what if it’s linked in another way!?” The squad, barely following this, looks confused.

“What do you mean?” asks Benson. 

“Ok, so there was this court case from a while ago where a man brutally raped and murdered a woman that he saw on the street. It was completely random with seemingly no motivation for the attack—no signs of history between the perpetrator and the victim, and no connection or importance to how and why she was raped and murdered. The investigators on the case were baffled, and they had no idea why this was done, and couldn’t convict with no motive.” 

“The case was almost entirely dismissed until someone came up with the idea of using the victims looks to their advantage. It turns out, the guy that killed her only did so with such severity because she was a dead ringer for his mother, who neglected and physically abused him, to the point where she would put out her cigarettes on him and forget to feed him.” She pauses, takes a breath, and then continues.

“So, the investigators took the description of the victim, and cross-referenced it with all reported cases of abuse in the last forty years, and found the guy’s mother and the guy himself. They were able to convict him, and he got life in jail. So, my thought process was that we can apply that to this case.”

“What if the reason that only Allen was being raped was that of his looks and social status? He’s a white, blond, popular athlete in a private school—the same type of kid that practically tortured Thom when he was in college. What if that’s been imprinted on him, hell, on both of them, and it’s causing them to only go after Allen and not any of his siblings?”

For a hot minute, the squad is silent. Brooding. For a second she’s doubtful, wondering if the shit spewing from her mouth even made sense. It was a long shot, but she assumed that they could use the help. Suddenly, she hears Fin whistle lowly.

“Damn, she’s onto something.” And with that, the rest of them warm up to the idea.

“Doesn’t hurt to check it out,” says Rollins.

“She’s a genius!” cries Carisi. She winks at him playfully, and he’d be lying if he said that her look didn’t make his heart skip a beat or two (or three, or four).

“Ok, so she’s got something. The question is, how do we get proof? We’d need the names of the bullies, their pictures, their possible testimonies, and we’d have to figure out if they left an imprint on them. For that, we’d obviously need a trained psychologis—…..” She trails off as she and the squad set eyes on Camila. She knows just what they’re thinking. And it’s way too risky. She locks eyes with Barba and knows that he’s thinking the same thing.

“No fucking way. I am _not_ evaluating Thom and Felix. No way in _hell_ am I doing that.”

“Why?” asks Rollins, looking confused.

“Well for starters, I don’t talk to criminals. At all. And arguably the most important—I can’t testify. At all. And if I even do this, you’ll _need_ me to testify, because there’s no way that you can go into court knowing that information _without_ a medical professional, and you all know for a fact that Dr. Huang retired. So you’re either going to have to get another psychologist or abandon my theory. Take your pick.” The squad still looks a little confused at this, and all is quiet until Carisi opens his mouth.

“These criminals are mentally ill—you treat the mentally ill. Besides, you could apply for a consulting job _at_ SVU. Why can’t you testify?” Her eyes flash with frustration, and then she yells.

“Because I’m _fucking_ the ADA! It's a conflict of interest!”

The whole squad quiets and stares at both Barba and Camila. They look at each other, and she covers her mouth with her hands. The whole precinct is quiet, actually—apparently she screamed so loud that the entire area outside of where she was standing heard her. To the squad’s knowledge, they were just friends. And she’s just ruined that. She turns to look at the squad’s faces, and every one of them is different. Benson looks worried, Rollins is stifling a laugh, Fin is smirking and Carisi looks like he’s about to throw up.

Man, she had fucked up.

* * *

Rafael was sweating bullets. After his genius “girlfriend” had outed their current relationship status, Benson immediately pulled the two of them into her office, demanding an explanation from the two of them.

“How long has this been going on?” Benson asks through her teeth, fuming.

Rafael’s cheeks turned red at this. “When did you meet her first…?" Camila gives a short laugh, but with one frosty look from Benson she quiets.

“Oh my God, ever since _then_!?” She yells, hitting the desk. “This is bad,” she says as she paces. “Every case that you’ve ever worked on, every case that she’s ever consulted, could be reopened if this gets out. This is _bad_.” The gears in both Barba and Camila’s heads are turning, and all is quiet until Camila speaks.

“So, let’s make sure that no one finds out.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Asked Benson.

“We tell no one. Rafi and I won’t show any indication of our “relationship” outside of our own homes—which means no more dinners and walks in the park, et cetera. If we’re careful, no one will find out. Ergo, every case will remain closed, and this case can go forward as planned. If the squad forgets that this happened, then it’ll be like it never did. As long as this is kept confidential, we’ll hopefully be fine. Is that something that we can do?” She asks as she paces, eyes flashing and cheeks burning out of embarrassment and anger. “No one has to know.”

“It’ll be a shitshow if the Strokes case goes to trial and the defense finds out.” Says Rafael as he wrings his hands nervously. “Besides, if we go with her plan _and_ if she’s the one to interview Thom and Felix, then I’ll have to recuse myself—it’ll be the smartest option.” Benson, already looking frustrated, now looks practically murderous. 

“Barba,” she warns. “You’ve been working this case for a long time. If you recuse yourself now, the DA’ll call you a flake, and then you’ll be getting even more grief from them. Not to mention how annoyed 1PP is gonna be about a change so far into the case.”

Rafael’s about to jump out of the nearest window after hearing this. She’s right, and he knows this. Sure, they could get another psychologist, but no other one would know the case as much. Was he relying on her to testify the entire time? He hates mixing his personal and professional lives, sure, but he had let it slide this time. And look where that had gotten him. He takes a deep breath, sighing loudly. “If you’re gonna do this, Camila, you have to be professional—with all of us. Strictly business 24/7, understand?” She looks hurt at this.

“I have a fucking _job_ , Barba. I’m a functioning adult. I can handle this. Not everyone’s a complete flake, ok?” He knows he fucked up, but at this point, pragmatism outranks personal feelings. 

“Ok then,” he says. “You ready to help us?”

“Well, since I’ve got nothing better to do…” She replies, trailing off with a lopsided smirk on her face.

Oh yeah, she’s definitely excited.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oral! take a shot every time i type 'clit'. i canT HELP iT iF TherE isn't a synonYM for CLIT oK. set in s16.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"i believe in annoyed at first sight"_

“'Mila.” Rafael warns. “What did I tell you about professionalism?” 

She removes her lips from his neck and leans back to respond, sighing before she speaks. “I _know_ , it’s just….you look _really_ good right now. And I’m sick of reading the case file. I can’t believe that you do this every day.”

“What? Did you expect to learn all of the information through osmosis?” He says, grinning at her from the other side of his bed, albeit a little annoyed. Rafael knows that she knows how important this case is, but he also knows how, well, _frustrated_ she is right now, and he doesn’t know whether to give in or not. Seeing her dark eyes, tight shirt and long, slightly messy hair is making something stir inside of him, but he fights to control it. _Not now_.

Seeing that he’s returned to his work, she decides to kick things up a notch. Pushing her casework off the bed, she sidles next to him even more, hand sliding up his thigh to massage him through the fabric of his suit pants. He _was_ focused on the file before this, but as soon as her hand made contact with his crotch, the words blurred in front of him. Camila's ready to claim victory when she feels him harden beneath her hand, but he isn't going to cave easily. After overcoming the initial shock, he swallows the lump in his throat and goes back to reading. She's going to have to pull out all the stops. 

Lying down next to him, she casually takes off her shirt and pants, leaving her in just her underwear. Sensing movement, Rafael glances to see what’s going on, and is stunned to see his fuck buddy undressing. His breath hitched in his throat, and he let out a strangled groan when he saw her slip her underwear off, making direct eye contact as she slides a single finger across her folds, collecting wetness. He knows that she knows that he’s watching, but she doesn’t allude to it at all, instead using the same finger to slowly circle her clit, making her hiss softly in pleasure.

It’s official, Rafael is rock hard. Despite their many sexual adventures, one would be surprised to find out that he’d never seen her…. _do things_ to herself. Apparently, he was missing out, because this was by far the hottest thing he had ever seen her do. Her eyes are completely closed as she starts to circle her clit faster, panting hard. She’s about to stick a finger in when her eyes open suddenly, making eye contact with Rafael as he pulls his pants off in order to palm himself.

“Thought you wanted to be professional, Raf?” she asks teasingly.

“Fuck professionalism, keep touching yourself.” He growls, motioning to her right hand, which has stopped its assault on her clit. She laughs to herself, and then continues, sticking a single finger, then two, into herself. He tuts at this.

“Slow down,” he scolds softly, resting a hand on her knee, “Not yet.” She glowers at him, but takes a finger out, bringing it to her mouth and sucking on it, hoping to earn a reaction from the voyeur next to her. And she isn’t disappointed

"My God." he says aloud before mumbling in Spanish. “You have no idea how good you look right now.” She smirks, and Rafael slowly becomes putty in her hands. He’s at her mercy, watching her play with herself. She hasn’t explicitly told him to not touch her, but he feels like she’ll stop if he does so.

“I think I could watch you do this all day and die a happy man,” he says as he slowly strokes himself. “This is _so_ much better than the case file.”

“You’re welcome, Counsel—,” A moan stops her mid-sentence, as she hits a spot inside of herself that makes her twitch. Seeing her slowly come undone by her own hand makes him _so fucking hard_ and he’s thanking every deity in every pantheon for this moment because this single experience outweighs any other sexual encounter they’ve had—and they’ve had quite a few.

“Take your bra off,” He commands, wanting to see more. She draws her hand away from inside of herself to remove the offending piece of cloth, whimpering at the loss of contact. This was Rafael’s chance to get back in control. While her hands were occupied, he moves fast, situating himself between her legs, and burying his face in her core, making her yelp out in surprise, and arch against his face.

“It’s about time you put your mouth to good use,” She says, forcing the words out between moans. He changes from his mouth to his fingers, pistoning with two while using the heel of his hand to stimulate her clit even further. She’s in heaven right now, and Rafael knows it. He also knows that’s he’s the reason that she's there, and goddamn if that doesn’t enlarge his ego even more. 

She begins twitching, moaning louder and she’s close, so close as his fingers manipulate her, teasing her clit, and she’s about to go over the edge when he stops and withdraws his hand. She whines in protest, opening her eyes to see him smirking at her. It’s clear that he isn’t about to let her come with just that, but then he licks his fingers, tasting her with that knowing look in his eyes and she nearly goes over the edge anyway, letting out a soft ‘fuck’ at seeing this.

"Something, uh, got you worked up over there, babe?" He asks, using the pet name that he only uses when they’re both breathless and moaning.

“Smug bastard,” she shoots back, frustration apparent in her eyes. “Hurry _up_ ,” she says.

“Patience is a virtue, _cariña_.” And with that, he’s back between her legs eating her out at full speed until she sees stars. He rounds her clit, once slowly, and then quick and short. Above him, Camila curses and pulls at his hair so hard his scalp burns, but he continues until she suddenly stills, climaxing with a quiet moan and then releasing his hair, her hips bucking against his mouth as he eases her to stillness.

Looking up from between her legs, he catches her drowsy gaze and winks at her. Her head lolls to the side and she briefly smirks, hair fanned out on the bed. Rafael was momentarily breathless.

 

If she ever were to ask him, he’d tell her that this was the precise moment he decided things were no longer casual.

* * *

“Any update on the bullies?” Asks Benson, strolling into the precinct with a cup of coffee and a bagel. The squad looks up at her, shaking their heads with defeat.

“We can’t exactly up and ask them about the bullying without arousing suspicion from them—right now they’re in interrogation, but they refuse to say anything because their lawyer’s telling ‘em not to,” replies Fin.

“Shit,” she barks. “Get Camila in—we have to get a statement before the DA and the Chief say that the case is stale. Carisi, call her and tell her to get herself—and Barba—in here ASAP.”

At that moment, Rafael is in a…..compromising position, to say the least. He’s currently being straddled on the couch of his apartment by his “girlfriend", neck being attacked by her lips. She’s grinding, he’s hard, and there’s no other place that he’d rather be right now. He’s just about to reach between her legs to clumsily rub her clit through her jeans, but his cell phone rings, jolting him out of his haze.

“Ignore it.” Camila pleads, breathing hard. In an effort to keep him heated, she grinds down harder on his erection and gently tugs his bottom lip into her mouth, which makes him gasp out. But within no time, his resolve hardens, laying a hand on her shoulder, signifying a stop. She grudgingly dismounts him, murmuring about unfairness.

“You know I can’t do that, ‘Mila.” He reaches to answer his phone, and she can see his gaze harden as he processes whatever he’s being told through his iPhone. “We’re being summoned,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They have the dads in interrogation, and they’re holding ‘em there so you can come and evaluate them.” Normally, she’d be fine with this, excited even, but with her current state, she wasn’t very happy—and she can tell that he isn’t the happiest right now. 

“How am I supposed to complete a thorough psychological evaluation like _this_?” She asks, gesturing to the space in between her thighs, where there was a noticeable wet spot. Instantly, she regrets bringing it up to Rafael, as his face adopts a smug look, and his already overinflated ego grows ten times its size at seeing how worked up he can get her. “I’ll be so annoyed the whole time—I’m annoyed right _now_.” He chuckles a little at her outburst.

“Guess you’ll have to deal, _cariña_. Normally I’d take care of it, as opposed to you doing it yourself, but it seems like both of us have to go in…..so just keep it in your pants, I guess.” Shaking her head in genuine frustration, she heads into his room to change her pants.

Walking through the precinct doors yet again, she can feel the stares of other detectives in different units who work in different parts of the building whispering and snickering in their direction. Apparently, news travels fast in such a small space. They find and approach the team, and immediately Fin and Rollins burst out laughing.

“What?” Rafael asks brusquely, anger seeping into his words. It seems that she isn’t the only one who's more than frustrated over the untimely phone call.

“It’s just… we hope we weren’t interrupting something, is all. You’ve got lipstick on your collar and bruises on your neck, Barba.” Rollins explains, breaking into peals of laughter, Fin joining her as they continue to laugh hysterically over this. They seem entirely too amused at this, Rafael thinks. He’s about to threaten them with the prosecution of something, anything. He’s a creative man—he’ll come up with something. Racking his brain and coming up with nothing that they’d done that was illegal in the state of New York, he bites back a Spanish expletive.

“Can you idiots stop laughing long enough for us to work? She’s got a job to do.” Says Benson, gesturing first to Camila, and then to the door of the interrogation room. “They’re all yours, Camila.”

* * *

She comes out of the room dazed. It’s a new experience, interviewing people that were almost 100% verifiable abusers. It was certainly a new experience; one that, to be honest, she isn’t itching to repeat. But she knows that if she wanted to help the team out, she’d have to do this _and_ testify—that being a challenge in and of itself.

“So, how’d it go?” Asks Carisi, voice laced with concern, seemingly noticing the disoriented look on her face. “They give you the names?” She takes a deep breath, prepared to answer in a few words, but instead, everything spills out in a jumble.

“They’re insane. Not, like, _insane_ insane, but definitely not right in the head, especially Thom—I’d peg him as the ringleader. Anyways, I went through a classic psych evaluation: normal questions, exact protocol, all by the book. Now, Felix was relatively alright. He was as defensive as is normal for someone who’s being accused of rape. Thom, on the other hand, was silent. Calm. He was Ted Bundy-esque, and it was completely unexpected. The thing about people like him is that they can lead normal lives—they’re that good at manipulation.”

“One would expect Thom to be defensive, scared, angry even. Instead, he was cocky, subtly demeaning, almost as if he was _daring_ you guys to convict him. He had a smile on his face the entire time, and I honestly think that even Rita was starting to get bad vibes from him, as well as Felix. Thom was the one that was imprinted upon, definitely. I knew that there was bullying, sure, but I didn’t know the extent of it. According to Thom, the ringleader of the bullies—Dean Hayworth—would follow him to every class, taunting him, would put dead fish in his backpack, rub shit all over his possessions, spray paint his dorm room with slurs, even come after him with a knife and threaten to cut his dick off.” At this point, the whole squad plus Barba had congregated, listening to her talk.

“Basically, what I can gather from Thom is that he isn’t mentally unstable—he can stand trial. He’s just _creepy_. He’s manipulative, apathetic, but magnetic—he can appeal to others and appear to connect to them. Yes, he can be considered dangerous, sure, but he can also be directed to answer questions quite easily. For example, I asked him if he had hoped that Dean has been arrested or killed, and he told me right away that he had been keeping tabs on him, and that he had been arrested four years ago for being in possession of child porn. He was like a little kid when he said this—ecstatic, joyful.”

“In short,” She says, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. “The guy’s name is Dean. He’ll be in the system.”

Carisi grins at this, then speaks up.

“How much you wanna bet that he’s blonde and blue-eyed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. cariña: love


	6. VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> arguments. someone dies, and they take comfort in one another if ya kno what i mean. set in s17.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"i write you into every universe i create, and in each one you are full of some kind of light"_

He’s blonde and blue eyed.

Dean Hayworth is a dead ringer for Allen Strokes—much to the delight of the squad and Camila. She’s on Cloud Nine, and she so desperately wishes that the pricks from Columbia could see her now. Look at her, aiding the elite Special Victims Unit with a tough case. Yeah, she’s basically Jesus. 

The pros of assisting the NYPD with a criminal investigation? Well, for one, the new friends. 

Her and Carisi are already close, but now she’s become friends with all the rest of them—including the newest member of the squad, Mike Dodds. He’d shown up halfway through the case, just in time for them to meet. He’s like a big brother to Camila, and she really likes spending time with him and everyone else in the team. 

Another plus: she gets to spend more time with Rafael. One would think that after giving some new information, they would be left alone, and she could go back to her own job, and everything would be normal. But this was a criminal investigation, and she’s now needed almost as much as Rafael is, meaning that they’re often together—him discussing legal obstacles and the occasional loophole, and her describing possible new psychological updates with everyone. Benson even gets her in the room with the victim to help him deal with all the new information. In short, she’s loving the positives, and the precinct itself. It’s her _nueva segueda casa_ , and if she’s being honest? She wouldn’t have it any other way.

The cons of consulting for the NYPD are there, however, and they’re a little rough, to say the least. Because she’s unofficially consulting—emphasis on _unofficial_ —she doesn’t receive any compensation for her efforts. 

Camila doesn’t really mind, though. The job is entertaining, fun and exciting. Besides, this is a one-time thing. They still needed a warrant for Thom and Felix’s arrest, for God’s sake. 

This brings her back to her current location— the ADA’s office, where she’s currently witnessing the squad, especially Barba and Carisi, go at it over warrants. For _two. Fucking. Hours_.

“We need the warrant _now_ , Counselor,” Carisi says for the third time, slightly angry at being shot down consistently.

“A lot of good Fordham did you, Carisi. I told you that I can’t get a judge to sign off on them without the physical tapes. Until you have them, I can’t do _jack shit_.” 

This is a problem. Camila’s already gotten the information from Thom, but it sure as hell wasn’t recorded. 

Sure, Barba and the squad saw and heard the information, but it wasn’t taped, and sadly, Barba’s right—it has to have been recorded for it to even have a _chance_ of being admissible in court. Carisi knows that he’s right, and it’s making him even angrier; she can see that. Camila’s watching both Rafael and Sonny argue, and she feels like she has to jump in.

“Raf, listen to him for a second. It’s been established that we don’t have it, and I can’t exactly go back and ask them to repeat exactly what they said to me on tape. They’re grade-A pricks, but they’re smart. Plus, Rita’ll probably be their defense attorney, and she’s as smart as you are. We need another way to bury them.” 

Rafael clenches his jaw. He really does care for this motley crew of a squad, and he cares about Camila more than he’d like to admit, but some days they make him want to pull his hair out.

"But the city council has introduced a bill…" Dodds starts.

"An introduction does not a law make." Barba hisses, wanting nothing more than to shoot himself in the foot. "Look, this is what we've got to work with. If you want to do something about it, become a legislator. All I know is that you need some sort of physical evidence for me to even attempt to procure a warrant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go drown myself in scotch—and no, you guys _aren’t fucking invited_.” Fin whistles lowly as he leaves.

"Man, he really needs to get lai—” Fin decides not to finish the thought when he gets a raised eyebrow from both his Lieutenant and Camila, and he turns red as he looks at the latter, realizing that Barba no longer lacks the physical aspect of a relationship, thanks to the woman in front of him. Camila glowers at Fin and the rest of the team before stalking off, presumably in search of Rafael.

“Tell your boyfriend to calm down, Camila!” Rollins shouts after her.

 _“He’s not my boyfriend!”_ She snaps as she walks away, looking for a quiet place to go. Maybe get a drink, eat a burger. She knows that Rafael would want the same thing. He likes peace.

Forlini’s is peaceful. Rafael Barba needs peace right now. He’s downed three double scotch’s and is sitting with the case file spread out in front of him, with a half-finished plate of pasta next to him. The squad could easily find him here, and he knows that.

He doesn’t think that they’ll come looking for him, though. He’s not that kind of lawyer,  _amiguito_. He wants to be left alone to stew in his anger, so in theory, this is the ideal situation. But part of him wants to be chased after. Part of him wants people to be worried about him.

Rafael _hates_ that part of him.

He calls himself selfish, but the same part of him knows that his upbringing has something to do with his underlying want to feel, well, _wanted_. Growing up, he was ignored by his family, and he vividly remembers getting into trouble on purpose as a “rebellious teenager” so that his parents would notice that he was still breathing.

These thoughts flutter through his mind as he scrutinizes the case. He’s poured over these exact file tens of times, but he’s doing it again, fervently searching for something, anything to take his mind off of the things floating through his head at the present moment.

At the end of the day, all Rafael wants is to be left alone. And, really, that was all he’s ever asked of this world: to be left the fuck alone to do his job. Especially during a day like this one. Deep down, the rational part of him disagrees with that desire—it knows how much he cares about his friends, and it knows how much he cares about Camila. Right now, though, he needs to not think about the heterogeneous mess that was the squad, or his intelligent, pretty, albeit stubborn girlfriend that wasn’t really his girlfriend (although between him and his mother—who he’s spoken to her about—he wants her to be). 

And just when he thought things couldn’t get any more complicated, he gets an incoming call from Liv. He considers being petty and not picking up, but yet again pragmatism wins the war in his head, and he presses ‘accept’—just in case there’s an update on the case.

“There’s a problem,” she greets.

“Nice hearing from you too, Liv. What sort of problem?”

“Two problems, actually—Thom is AWOL, and he killed someone.”

“Excuse me?” says Barba, voice going up an octave. “He did what? Holy shit. Holy _fucking_ shit.” Barba’s stunned. Thom is escalating. Rapidly. This is bad, to say the least. “Wait,” he adds. “Who’s the victim?” Liv takes a deep breath on the other line before answering.

“Felix. He killed Felix.” At this Rafael is stunned into silence. He hangs up the phone without warning and calls one of the most important people immediately. She needs to know.

“It makes sense, Rafael. Felix was collateral damage.” Camila is exhausted by the whole situation. After getting a blue cheese and bacon cheeseburger from some artisan place in Manhattan, she had gotten a call from a very panicked Rafael, practically begging her to meet him at the restaurant.

They had things to discuss, apparently.

No, Rafael doesn’t call Liv, or Rollins, or Carisi or Fin. He calls the first girl that pops into his head—his “girlfriend”. He likes to think that it’s because she’s a commonsensical, put-together psychologist, but he knows that it’s because he trusts her with these sorts of situations—situations where everything seemed hopeless and convoluted. 

“What do you mean? They were married, _por el amor de Dios_!”

“You weren’t in there with them, Raf,” she says with a stony look on her face. She expected this, to be honest. Thom was a ticking time bomb. 

“The aspect of human nature that is self-preservation was especially strong with that guy—he radiated it. I was surprised that they weren’t divorced; it was that apparent.”

Rafael concedes at this. He isn’t the one with the degree in clinical psychology.

“If anything, this makes it slightly harder for you guys to convict. I can _easily_ attest to the fact that the murder was because of his mental state—because that's probably the case.”

“The other problem with that,” Rafael counters, “is that the defense can claim insanity, and if Thom is as smart as you say he is, he can pretend to be insane just as easily.”

“Well,” Camila replies, “I guess you’ll have to come up with another angle, because, sadly, you’re correct.”

“Well, I already knew that. No need to stroke my ego even further.”

“Stroke you—now _there’s_ an idea.” She jokes, attempting to lighten the mood. He gives her a lopsided smirk as she sips her wine, and, for the first time since the office, they are at peace. 

“Do you want to come back to my place?” He asks, hope tinging his voice. 

“Rafael Barba, are you asking me to have sex with you thirty minutes after we received knowledge of a dead body?” She’s amused at this, and if anything _her_ ego is being stroked.

“Maybe…” he says, winking exaggeratedly. She laughs lightly at this, and motions for him to get up.

“Well, if that’s what does it for you,” she replies.

The exit together. To an outsider, they would be seen as a couple. They were clearly focused on one another. A shame, considering that they would’ve noticed that they were being watched, if only they were more observant.

* * *

The cab drops them off at Camila’s place instead of his, and Rafael is hit with the observation that he had never actually _seen_ her place. He doesn’t know what to expect. 

“Hope you like cats, Rafael.” She says as she opens her apartment door. Instantly he’s hit with the smell of freshly baked brownies. He is greeted with a minimalistic apartment, all shades of black and white, with framed artwork and the odd houseplant.

“Small. Cute, though,” he mumbles to himself.

“Not all of us have the salary of an ADA,” she says jokingly. As she’s flipping the locks on the door closed, she sees Rafael make a low noise of disdain. Apparently, he’s met the cat.

“Camila,” Rafael says. "What the hell is that?"

“He's a cat, Rafael. Haven't you seen a cat before?" 

The nameless cat rubs against his leg, purring softly. The cat seems to have taken a liking to him, much to the disparagement of Rafael’s $2,000 suit pants. Begrudgingly, Rafael kneels down to pat the cat’s head halfheartedly.

”I didn't take you for a cat person, Rafi." Camila smiles at him as he pets the cat.

“I’m not,” he replies. “Your cat has _shed_ over my suit pants. Thanks a lot, cat.” He says, sarcasm mixed with genuine annoyance in his tone. She again laughs lightly, apparently taking great pleasure in his misfortune.

“Well, the pants are coming off pretty soon anyway, so it’s not that big of a deal.”

He gives her a devilish look at this. “About that…” He takes a couple steps towards her, closing the gap between them. Camila drops her purse by her feet as his hands come to rest on her hips, tracing circles on the sides of her flat stomach. Their mouths join together after a moment of hesitation, and she smiles into the kiss.

“Counselor,” she murmurs against his mouth. " You’re handsy today.”

“Can’t help it,” he responds. “You look good. _Really_ good. That dress….that stupid fucking dress and how good you look in it. Good God, I thought I was going to _lose it_ in that restaurant.” 

She smirks again, this time biting his lower lip softly, making him hiss in delight. “Then I guess I should lose it, Counselor,” she teases. He nods eagerly, making a laugh bubble from her chest. “How ‘bout we make it to a bed first?” He turns a little red at being outed as too ardent, but he agrees, letting her drag him to what he could assume was her room.

She sits him down on the bed and lets him watch as she slowly removes her dress, leaving her in nothing at all. This makes all the blood in Rafael’s body rush to his crotch, and he pulls her down onto the bed to join him.

“Is now a good time to tell you that my dress was too tight to wear underwear with?” She asks.

“Perfect timing, Martínez,” he quips, climbing on top of her to kiss her neck, intending to leave some bruises. His lips kiss the crook of her neck, making her whimper. She whimpers even louder when he begins sucking; and his teeth catch the soft skin of her neck and he bites softly, making the moisture in between her legs grow. It’s been more than a year of fucking around with the Manhattan ADA, and he quickly learned how to play her like a piano.

He travels lower still, attaching his lips to her breasts, swirling his tongue around her nipples, laughing when her breath catches in her throat.

“So responsive….” He says, trailing off as he sinks even _lower_ , stopping when he becomes eye level with her core. He blows air on her first, enjoying watching her squirm.

“You’re already so wet, _cariña_. That must be terribly uncomfortable.” She curses softly in Spanish. He licks a single stripe up her folds, and that alone is enough for her to hiss out, and is enough for him to become even more pleased with himself. 

Without warning, he sinks his tongue inside of her. That makes Camila moan out softly, but said moan turns into a whine of protest at the sudden loss as he removes his tongue just as abruptly.

“Fuck me, _Papi_ ,” she begs. “Please.” She looks up at him with her best doe eyes, and Rafael is momentarily struck with a wave of arousal. Oh god, was it wrong to get off on her begging? He decides that he doesn’t give a flying fuck; all he knows is that she just earned herself more pleasure.

“So eager…” He smirks, sliding a finger inside of her, making her moan, this time a little louder. “Why would that be?” Another finger.

“Because you’re a tease, _asshole_.” She responds, forcing the words out in between moans as he begins to slowly move his fingers inside of her.

God she was wet. He was the luckiest man in the world. He’s loving drawing this out, hearing all of the pretty things that spill out of her mouth when she’s desperate. He’s brought back down to earth when she bucks her hips against his fingers, presumably a sign that he’d just hit a particularly sensitive spot.

“You pretend to be such a good girl but you'll take me anywhere you can get it, won't you? Not just my place, huh? It has to be wherever _you_ want, correct?” His words fuel her even more, and she lets out a muffled moan.

“ _Cariña_ —I’ve been thinking about this for most of the day.” He says, talking to her even more, knowing how much his words got her off. “It would be a right shame if you were to censor yourself, now, wouldn't it?”

“I’m trying to—oh God—not be too loud,” she responds, earning a chuckle from the man who’s currently fingering her.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” With this, he picks up the pace, wanting desperately to hear her moans escape her mouth. And they do.

As he curls his finger into her, he uses his mouth to circle her clit, making her moan out, louder this time. He can sense when she gets close, and he slows, earning a loud groan of protest from her.

“You wanna come? Well, then, you’ll have to get loud.”

She obliges, of course. He resumes his pace, and in no time, she’s squirming beneath him, her breath coming in short pants until finally, she’s begging him to let her come. How could he say no to her? The high keening noise she makes barely sounds human and he’s urging her on in rapid Spanish as the world shatters around her. He watches as she unravels beneath him, loud moans escaping her mouth. 

He guides her down from her high, and she pants loudly, cursing under her breath in both Spanish and English, thanking him and condemning him at the same time, and the sign of her twitching because of him almost makes him come right then and there.

“Come on, let me fuck you.” He pleads as soon as her breathing returns to normal.

“So eager, are we?” She replies, teasing him as she makes eye contact with his erection.

His eyes flash fire. “I’m not the only one dripping here, don’t be coy.” And with this, he slides into her slowly. The soft groan that escapes his lips is Camila’s prize, and Rafael’s confirmation that he is still alive.

“Always so tight, aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t be if you fucked me more often.” Camila says, deliberately attempting to get him riled up. 

It works. His hands grip her sides roughly, and he begins thrusting his hips into her, making her moan into his mouth. She clenches around him, and he can barely remember his own name because of this, but he sure as hell knows who is making him feel so good.

She was sex wrapped up in more sex with a side of, what was it, oh yes—sex. It was a crime, the way she moaned. Someone should arrest her for it—he could charge her with public indecency for certain. 

His undoing comes when she does, moaning his name in that loud, needy, breathy tone of voice as she climaxes, and with a few strokes he’s there with her, groaning into her ear as he empties himself inside of her, and _fucking hell_ she’s going to be the death of him one day. As they both come down from their respective highs, panting loudly, he slips out of her to roll next to her, tracing lazy shapes on her abdomen as he does so.

"Jesus Christ," she says, her voice raspy.  
"Oh, he can't save you now," Rafael replies, sounding absolutely wrecked. She laughs at this, and the sound of pure joy tears through the air, making _something_ in his heart swell, and he isn’t sure what it is but at the same time he _is_ sure and goddamn he cannot be falling in love with what was supposed to be a one night stand all those years prior to this moment. 

After a couple moments of silence, she speaks.

"Thank you," she murmurs against his skin, snuggling up to him.

"For what? Having sex with you?" He sniffs. "Well, it's a chore, but I suppose someone has to do it."

“No, idiot, for everything. The past couple of days….you’ve been, well, amazingly put together, helping me with cases and shit, the whole nine yards. For someone that’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, you’ve done more than most of my old boyfriends.”

“Well, maybe I could join their ranks.” She tenses up at this, and for a hot minute Rafael is hit with a tsunami of worry—maybe it was too early after sex for this, or she wasn’t interested or she didn’t want him like that. 

But then she smiles, a genuine smile, and says three words that make his heart go pitter-patter and his mouth turn up in a smile and kiss her softly.

“I’d like that.”

This tender moment would have been cut short if either of them had looked to the left, outside the window that had not had its curtains closed during their bout of sex. 

Because if they had, they would’ve seen the figure crouching next to the window, camera in hand, observing anything and everything, currently taking pictures of the two of them tangled in the blankets of Camila Martínez’s bed, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

 

 _Oh, this would do wonderfully in court_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. nueva segueda casa - new second home
> 
> 2\. amiguito - little friend
> 
> 3\. por el amor de Dios - for the love of God
> 
> 4\. papi - daddy (SORRY)
> 
> 5\. cariña - love


	7. VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love shit & sex shit. deadass almost cried out of loneliness while writing the fluffy parts of this chapter. set in s17.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _you came up behind me_  
>  _wrapped your arms around_  
>  _my neck and covered_  
>  _my eyes with your hands_  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> _"guess who?" you asked._
> 
>  
> 
> _and how silly, i thought,_  
>  _it was to think that i would_  
>  _not know you by the_  
>  _feeling of your heartbeat_  
>  _against my back_

“Please tell me you found something.” asks Benson. She’s faced with dejected looks from the squad, which gives her the answer—no words required. She sighs defeatedly, exchanging a look of pure exasperation with Barba, who was on his fourth cup of coffee and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Barba knew that her anger wouldn’t abate until they got a shred of evidence, a hit on his credit cards, or even a physical description.

“There’s nothing yet, Liv,” Barba says softly. “For now, he’s gone. Unequivocally.” Barba knows that’s not what Liv wants to hear at all, but it’s the truth, and Rafael Barba has never omitted the truth in cases like this. And this case would _not_ be an anomaly.

“Wait.” Fin says suddenly, holding his hand up. “I think I’ve got something—it’s a hit on him. ATM cam shows him withdrawing money ten minutes ago near…..the 9/11 Memorial? That doesn’t sound right.” The group shares doubtful looks for about a picosecond, but then Benson unfreezes.

“I don’t care if he’s in front of his mother’s grave. Carisi and Dodds, _get him_. They speed off, leaving Fin, Rollins, Benson, and Barba in the squad room. “Fin, Rollins, go through more cams from the vicinity—there’s no way he’ll get far.” They nod, burying their heads in their respective computers. That leaves Benson and Barba. She retreats into her office, saying something about updating the Chief on the case. This involves leaving Rafael alone to his own devices. 

In principle, he could just go home, maybe grab a drink and a bite to eat. Hell, he could call Camila and they could play hooky together until there was a development. But then he remembers that she has work, and one would expect her to _not_ abandon ship for the sole reason of getting some crème brûlée with her boyfriend. 

_Boyfriend_. He absolutely loves this new title of his. Sure, they had only really discussed it the morning after they had last slept together, and that may have been a couple days ago, but he knew that she wouldn’t have forgotten. Honestly? Finding out that she was interested in him was the apex of his recent years in the city. Beautiful and smart—that was always Rafael’s blindspot. However, no matter how beautiful or intelligent she may be, she won’t solve his current problem.

Of course, he could always visit her. He was itching to see her again. He hasn’t really spent time with her since the last time they’d had sex, and he’s missing her. He doesn’t want to sleep with her, though. He just wants to talk, really. Get to know her, the real her. Not the watered-down Camila, the unilateral side that he sees the most often, but the multifaceted, whole human being that was _her_ , Camila Martínez. He wants her, he really does.

And he gets her, of course. Stepping out of the yellow cab in front of her practice, he takes a deep breath and walks in. He’s greeted with a long hallway—quite intimidating if you ask him—and he is now faced with a choice. Rafael hates choices. There are eight doors, which means that the probability of choosing the right door is 1/8, or 0.125%. He goes up to the first door, and kicks himself, both physically and mentally. The names of the psychologists are on the fucking doors, of course.

It’s daily struggles like this that makes Rafael wonder how on earth he made it into Harvard Law.

He enters through the correct door and is greeted with the scent of a new car, and a slightly austere waiting area, with one middle-aged woman behind a desk. “Can I help you?” The lady asks, stifling a yawn. “For new patients, the sign-in sheet is locate—” He stops her with a look. 

“Actually, I’m looking for Camila Martínez. Is she available currently?” She perks up when her name is mentioned.

“Oh, you’re looking for ‘Mila! Are you a new patient?” He shakes his head with a smile and says a sentence that makes him giddy to say. _Jesucristo_ , he’s in love.

“Actually, I’m her boyfriend. Is she free? I’d like to take her out to lunch real quick.” At this, she gasps.

“You’re her _boyfriend_? She never said anything about a boyfriend!”

“It’s kind of recent, you know?”

“I see. And you are…..?”

“Rafael Barba, Manhattan Assistant District Attorney,” he says, giving her a small wave and a smile.

“A District Attorney—wow. She really upgraded from the last guy—he worked in a library. Anyways, I can get her for you; I’m sure she’d love to go to lunch. Give a me a hot second and I’ll get her out here. You can sit over there for now.” She says, gesturing to a plush, white sofa next to a fern in a red pot. He opens his phone, receives a text from Liv saying that there are no updates yet, then sighs and closes the phone just as the door opens.

“Rafi?! What are you do—why are y— _how_ did you get this address?” She sputters, gesticulating slightly. Well, she was definitely surprised: Mission Accomplished.

"Really?" He smirks. "You should know better than to ask those questions by now." She relaxes, and grins at him.

“So,” she starts. “Heard you want to take me to lunch. How ‘bout it?”

He smiles warmly. “Forlini’s?”

She returns it. “Always.”

The ride is peaceful. They sit in the back of a small cab, and they sit. No words. No phones. Just sitting, and the odd thought. He traces shapes on her leg, and she leans her head on his shoulder. Finally, they’re acting a like a couple. 

Hallelujah.

“Are you seriously telling me that _Cat’s Cradle_ is better than _Harrison Bergeron_?” Camila exclaims over a bottle of wine.

“Yeah, I am. Harrison Bergeron is easier to stomach, to be honest. Vonnegut shouldn’t be easy to stomach, according to literally every critic in the history of the world.” He counters.

“Hearsay,” she replies. He cracks a smile at her use of legal terminology. “Anyways, besides reading depressing novels, what else do you do in your free time? Besides case stuff, even though I know for a fact that New York City would probably crumble if you weren’t near a case at all times.” She jokes, taking a sip of her wine, marveling at the casual clothes that he wore—a burgundy long sleeve shirt and jeans— _jeans_! She honestly didn’t think that he even owned a pair. To her knowledge, he lived in expensive suits and sweatpants.

“To be candor? I drink. It’s not a drinking _problem_ , of course. I just really like a good glass of scotch.” Camila laughs lightly and then holds up her wine glass.

“A toast.”

“To what?”

“Us. And, of course, to the absence of any sort of alcohol-related quandaries.” He cracks a smile and mirrors her actions.

“I’ll drink to that.” They down their drinks and he flips the conversation, starting to ask her questions.

“What about you, _cariña_? When you aren’t with me, what things do you do with other, less interesting, less attractive and less smart people?” She snorts at this, shakes her head, and even adds in an eye roll for good measure.

“Your ego is astounding, Raf.”

“It’s directly proportional to my legal abilities.”

“Anyways, in my free time I feed the cat, go on runs every couple of weeks—because I just _love_ torturing myself—and I sing. Or at least, I used to.” He frowns at her tone of voice, the reason being that it changed subtly, from happiness to bitter sadness.

“What happened?” He asks, reaching across the table to awkwardly pat her shoulder. God, he’s really bad at comforting people.

“I used to sing at my mom’s restaurant when I was younger—you know, to make some pocket change. Then my dad died when I was nine, and she sold the place. FBI salaries are good, so we weren’t exactly poor, but we only had so much money left over. It was torn down a week after she sold it to make room for some clothing store. I felt betrayed like my parents wanted to silence me. So, I never sang again. I decided that if they didn’t want me to sing, then I wouldn’t. At all.” 

She takes a deep breath after spouting those words. She just told him some personal shit about herself. But she trusts him, she really does. There’s a pause in the conversation until Rafael opens his mouth.

“My dad never loved me. He was an abusive prick who never gave a shit about me, and I hated him. I still do, to be honest. He didn’t care at all. He never did. He died years ago, but my hands still turn into fists every time I think about him.” He holds his hands, which are tightly clenched, up, so as to prove his story. She says nothing. All she does is lean over and kiss him softly. 

 

Rafael has never been more in love than right now, in this moment.

* * *

He wakes her up with a kiss on her forehead. 

It’s the morning of the next day, and Rafael is in his bed, next to the girl he adores. She slept very soundly last night, which makes sense, considering how late they stayed up. They didn’t have sex—just talked. She opened up a gallon of ice cream, and they watched reruns of _Friends_ until Camila was so tired she almost impaled herself in the eye with the spoon she was using to eat the ice cream itself.

He had carried her to his bed, and had her, with her last bit of energy, take her shirt and pants off, and change into one of Rafael’s old Harvard shirts. Ten hours later, and here they were. She groaned loudly at being woken up “so early”, but she opened one eye to look at him.

“You missed,” she says groggily. He beams at her, looking the most chipper that she’s even seen him. 

“My mistake, _hermosa_.” He says as he leans in closer, placing a delicate kiss on her lips, smiling as she nibbles on her lower lip playfully. She then groans, but sits up.

“What’s gotten into you today, huh? Why are you so happy, _nena_?”

“You.” He replies simply. “Never realized how happy you make me, is all. Plus, I was planning on waking you up by eating you out, but I decided on the more innocent option of a forehead kiss.” She scoffs in mock annoyance.

“You know what? I was going to ask you to join me in the shower. But now I think I’m just going to take a long bath by myself," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Become more acquainted with the shower head massage settings you know?” He clutches his chest theatrically at this. 

“You wound me, ‘Mila.” She laughs at his antics, and playfully shoves him.

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me, idiot.”

Who was he to deny her? He leans over, and sits her on top of him, giving her a kiss on her forehead, each cheek, down her jawline, before finally connecting their lips. She kisses back, of course, running her hands through his hair slowly, tugging slightly in order to see him tense up. They made out slowly for God knows how long, but it’s all interrupted yet again by Rafael’s phone. She sighs in defeat at hearing it.

“You never really have a day off, do you?” He shakes his head sadly but answers it. After a minute of seeing his eyebrows raise, he hangs up the phone and stands up.

“Duty calls, babe, sorry. They got another hit on Thom, and they want me to come check it out. You wanna join?” He asks hopefully.

“Not today, Rafi. I might just, you know, allude all responsibility today. Just kinda chill at my place. That cool with you?” Rafael, slightly saddened by this, shakes his head reluctantly.

“Knock yourself out, Martínez. I’ll text you if I need advice, ok?” She nods in agreement, then ushers him into the bathroom to get ready.

“Time to start the day, Raf. Go get even more handsome while I steal more of your clothes.” He smirks at her honesty.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Rafael’s sitting in his office with the squad when she gets bored.

It can be sort of tough, being alone for the whole day. She did everything that she had to do—change the kitty litter, buy more milk, go out to the gym for the first time in three months, _and_ even cook some lunch. The first half of her day is productive, to say the least.

Only after 4 did it get to be boring. She could call some of her friends, bloviate to them over the phone, but she honestly doesn't want to. She isn’t being satiated by anything, and she's honestly running out of things to do.

Then she remembers something. Something that would make things a _lot_ more fun when Rafael returns. She gets up off the bed and goes into her closet, where she rifles through her underwear drawer until she finds what she was looking for. The black satin bustier, underwear, garter and stocking set was the perfect blend of sexy and sophisticated—Rafael’s favorite type of lingerie.

What better way to get him back for depriving her of oral then by sending him some suggestive media while he was working? She laughed to herself devilishly and prepared to take some photos. Going in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, she takes a picture of herself—long, dark hair pushed to one side, fingers tugging the waistband down slightly, and her teeth catching her bottom lip suggestively. Feeling satisfied with the pictures, she sends them to her boyfriend with the caption, _”missing you already xx”_. She knows that he’ll fall all over himself for her in this getup.

And she isn’t wrong. While sitting at the table rifling through files with the squad, his phone’s text message alert dings, and he finds himself face to face with his girlfriend, who just happens to be wearing little to nothing. Okay, she’s wearing lingerie, but it was see-through in all the right places, so she's basically naked. He coughs loudly after choking on his own breath, and his face flushes when Liv looks at him.

“Alright, Barba?” she asks. He nods his head yes, but then turns even redder when the next picture of her is sent. Instead of standing up, she’s lying on her bed, taking a picture of her hands sliding into her underwear. Caption? _” getting really bored, papi. wish you were here —my hands aren’t as good as yours”_. He chokes again, this time almost spitting out some water. After his reaction, coincidentally, the squad finishes going through the files, and they stand up to leave.

They motion for him to come with them, presumably to go down to the precinct and look through even _more_ files, but at the moment he seems to be incredibly hard, thanks to her pictures. He actually has to claim a pulled muscle in order for them to not badger him to get up. 

As soon as they leave, he gets a phone call. Of course, it’s from her. he picks up reluctantly, and what he hears on the other end makes him stagger over to the couch, overwhelmed by arousal. It appears that she called him for the sole reason of hearing his reaction. It was bound to be interesting, considering the fact that she was moaning his name into the phone as she presumably touched herself.

Fucking hell, she would honestly kill him someday.

“Listen, _cariña_. I’m coming to your place right now, and I expect an apology.” She responds by moaning his name louder until she presumably climaxes. The loud cursing and moaning would corroborate _that_ theory.

He hangs up the phone abruptly, grabs his briefcase, strategically places it over his crotch, and leaves his office in a hurry.

When he gets to her place, he bursts through the door, finding it unlocked, and makes a beeline for her bedroom.

“You think it’s fun to turn me on when I’m working?” He asks as he enters the room. He finds her completely naked on the bed, fondling herself while looking him right in the eyes. “Because it’s not fucking fun. At all. Come here and say sorry.” At this she grins, getting up from the bed and walking towards him, sinking down on her knees.

“Whatever you want, _papi_.” Without warning, she takes him into her mouth, lips closing around his cock, making him shudder. She takes him deep, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucks him off, humming around his length to send vibrations down his cock. He mumbles Spanish nonsense as she works her magic, terms of endearment and nasty phrases so tangled up together that in her state she couldn't possibly translate. Otherwise, he doesn’t speak; there is no need, and as his end rushes closer his gasps become more desperate.

"Like that, yeah, fuck—that—" He lapses again into Spanish, punctuated occasionally by a fevered curse in English, and then in no time he’s spilling down her throat in a salty rush. She swallows him eagerly, and as soon as he regains his composure he drags her up, pulling her into a rough, hungry kiss. His hands knot into her hair and drag down her back as she sucks bruises into his neck. He steps away from her when she tries to lead his hand lower down her body, though.

”You practically _killed_ me, _cariña_. If you think I'm getting you off, you've got another thought coming.” He says with a smirk on his face. She doesn’t try to resist, knowing that the only way she’d come again would be by her own hand.

“Bastard,” she shoots back.

“Your fault for teasing me.”

She's frustrated, but she concedes. There's no use in arguing with him right after such an event. She decides to change the subject—maybe talking about the case would make him softer, and then he would give her what she wanted.

"How was work, Raf?" She asks, throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and putting on her bra. He's fuming still, even after what she considers a good blowjob. "Really, Rafael? You cannot seriously still be angry. I just blew you, for Christ's sake!" Now it's her turn to be apoplectic. She opens her mouth to yell at him, even more, when she looks at him properly for the first time. He's grinning at her with a knowing look on his face. "What?" She snaps.

"You're cute when you're angry." She sighs, rolling her eyes, but decides to be honest with him.

"Honestly? _Please_ get me off. I'm in genuine pain, and we both know that my hands aren't as good as your mouth." His grin widens as the words leave her mouth.

"Don't play that game, _cariña_. We both know that you won't win."

"I'm not playing a game, Rafael Barba. Can you not be an insufferable douchebag for _five_ minutes and help me out?" At this point, she's begging. He's never flat out refused to get her off, until now. She knows that he's just being a tease, or else his tone would be more serious. As of now, he's just being a dick.

"Does that mean that you'll come in five minutes? I think that'll be a new record." This makes her face flush, hating being outed as a sucker for his..... _talents_. 

"I'll come in two if you take care of me right now."

"Now that's something I'll have to see for myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. cariña: love  
> 2\. Jesucristo: jesus christ  
> 3\. hermosa: beautiful  
> 4\. nena: babe  
> 5: papi: daddy (IM SORRy)  
> (lowkey think that this is too much sex, not enough plot so imma change that dw)


	8. VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she almost meets the fam. more case stuff. set in s17. spoiler: next chapter is the court case

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"you have to find that place that brings out the human in you. the soul in you. the love in you."_

“Isn’t it a little early for me to be meeting your parents?”

“Why, do you not want to meet the person that made me so amazingly _irresistible_?”

Camila snickers, shaking her head at his ego. They’re walking to Rafael’s apartment together, hand in hand, talking about the possible vacation that he wants to take her on in a week or so. “After the case is done, I kind of want to relax a little—maybe invite my family over instead of going to them. God knows I can afford it; they can’t.”

She smiles at his thoughtfulness. The way that he talks about his family in that loving, warm, comforting tone makes her pine for a family of her own. Well, a family that has more people in it, at least. Rafael has cousins, aunts, uncles, the odd grandparent, and of course, his mother, Lucia Barba, the woman that had—in Rafael’s own words—made him the ‘scintillating’ man he is today.

“I don’t know, Raf. I might not be able to get off work…” She says, trailing off. Of _course_ she’d find a way to get off of work so she could go with him, but she isn’t going to tell him that. She likes watching him beg if she’s being honest.

“Please…..? If _me_ of all people can get time off, why can’t you?” She doesn’t respond, leading him to continue speaking, all while dodging other people (as well as some dogs) on the sidewalk as they meander to his home.

“ _Mira_ , there’ll be no strange outbursts of singing from next door if you’re with me.” He’s presumably referencing the time when they were about to get heated in her bedroom—until, of course, the man next door decided to bless their ears with his artistic rendition of Don McLean’s _American Pie_.

“There isn’t rat poison in my fridge for some reason—thanks for almost murdering me, by the way.” Again, another reference to the instance where she was cooking for him one night and accidentally put in what she _thought_ was salt into his _paella_.

“And, most importantly, my mom’ll love you, and I know that you’ll want the extra attention.” This is a good point on his part—she does enjoy being doted over. 

She screws her face into one of extreme thought, tapping her temple with her finger exaggeratedly. Finally, she stops, giving him a smirk.

“You do know that I was gonna say yes all along?”

“You _were_?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “You were just so cute stating your case. So naturally, I had to drag it out.” He playfully frowns at her, and she’s about to give him a quick kiss when his phone buzzes. Of course. He picks up with an apologetic look on his face, but that look goes away when he hears the information waiting for him on the other end of the line. She quirks an eyebrow at him, questioning him silently as to why he looks so panicked.

“They caught him, Camila. They caught Thom. We need to get down to the precinct— _now_.” And they do. When they arrive, though, they’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes—Thom Cutwell.

He’s in holding again, and he looks rough. His once perfect, shiny dishwater blond hair is oily and matted. His nails have dirt under them, and his lips are cracked and bleeding. However, he seems to be fine. In fact, he’s _smiling_. Smirking, really. It’s off-putting, and it gives her the chills. Benson and Dodds walk up to Camila as soon as they lay eyes on her, faces dark and fatigued.

“How’d you guys get him?” She asks.

“Stopped for a hot dog—traffic cop was passing by and recognized him from our description. He put up a chase, but eventually, he got caught.” She shakes her head ruefully. 

“Is there _any_ way that I can re-interview him, and tape it this time without being suspicious?” Dodds shakes his head no and gestures to the interrogation room, where Thom is being held. “So, now we have to prove that he murdered someone, correct? What did the ME say after the autopsy?”

“C.O.D. was a slit throat,” Benson responds. “Cutwell had used a kitchen knife from his house to do it and then plunged it into his chest postmortem. Lucky for us, his fingerprints are on the knife, and there’s a strand of hair stuck on the dried blood on the knife itself. Rollins sent it to the lab to be officially tested, but it matches Thoms’ hair color, so we basically have enough to arrest him. Right now, though, we need to get someone in to interrogate.”

“I can do it,” Dodds volunteers. “I can bring Camila and she can take notes or something. Is that allowed, Lieutenant?” Liv nods her head.

“Knock yourselves out, I guess. Fair warning—Rita’s in there, and even _she_ looks a little exasperated.” Promising to heed her words of advice, Dodds leads Camila into the room just as Barba enters the room with Rollins, presumably carrying the lab results.

“Is she going in there?” Rafael asks. “Again?” He’s confused, and a little worried. Rafael knows how dangerous Cutwell is. Rationally, there isn’t a problem with her going in at all. It’s not like he’s going to kill her or anything. Still, the protective portion of his personality wants to barge in there and ‘rescue’ her. The whole situation is egregious to the max, and that opinion is validated when he sees the looks on Dodd’s and Camila’s faces as they speak with Thom and Rita—they range from angry to confused to scared to concerned. Basically, they cover almost every negative emotion on the spectrum. He isn’t comfortable with this at all.

“Does she _have_ to be in there?” He asks, already knowing the answer.

“No, but you know that her being there would add to her testimony, Barba,” Rollins responds. 

He sighs in defeat, knowing that Amanda’s right. He wishes that he was in there too, but knows that there isn’t a reason, because Cutwell hasn’t been arrested yet. Emphasis on _yet_. He’s working on getting the warrant over the phone. As he’s about to call and check up on the state of said warrant, the interrogation room door opens and Dodds and Camila traipse out. 

“They’re using the insanity lens.” Dodds says to the rest of the squad (who’ve joined Barba and Rollins outside the room).

“How do you know?” Asks Rafael. Now is not the time for the squad to make assumptions.

“Because Rita said, ‘If you arrest my client, our plea will be ‘Not Guilty By Reason of Insanity’, and your case will be fucked.’ That was verbatim, by the way.” Camila says wearily. Her notes were short and concise, in a shorthand that only she could translate in order for her to document almost the entire conversation. “New York uses the _M’Naghten Rule_ still, right? Is there a chance that he’ll fail the test?”

“He’s not inept, ‘Mila. He knows how to act. He might fail the test, but if he doesn’t, there’s a good chance that he’ll be acquitted,” says Barba. “The good news is that the lab results match Thom’s hair to the one on the knife—that’ll be the main thing that impugns’s his defense. Even better, Rita doesn’t know it yet.” His phone dings after the words leave his mouth, and he smiles wide when he opens his phone.

“Just got the warrant. Arrest him for the murder.” At this, Carisi makes a noise of disdain.

“But what about Allen’s rape? Are you saying that we can’t prove that?”

“Yeah, Carisi, I am. The lack of DNA evidence, the absence of a solid testimony, and the fucking _death_ of one of the perpetrators makes it a little hard to prosecute, correct? Ipso facto, we can’t—I _won’t_ convict him for rape. Right now, the murder case against him is extremely strong, and we have a better shot of winning with this.”

“So what are we supposed to tell Allen? ‘Sorry, but we gave up on your case because your dad went apeshit and killed a guy’? We’re just supposed to let him down like that?” Asks Fin.

“Exactly,” Rafael snaps. “Are you going to arrest him for this now, or are you going to let him walk for no reason other than sheer incompetence?”

Carisi and Fin look absolutely homicidal at his words, but still pulled out a pair of handcuffs and stalked into the room.

“There wasn’t a need to snap at them, Raf. They get the idea.” Camila says softly, grasping his hand. “Don’t give them grief over all of this—it isn’t anyone here’s fault.” Rafael gives her a long look, sighing deeply as he takes a breath or two. He smiles at her, and for a moment they’re in their own world until Liv coughs and gestures to their joint hands.

“Getting serious, huh?” They spring apart instantly, shaking their heads wildly.

“No—“ Camila starts.

“Not exactly—“ Rafael jumps in.

She’s snickering at the two of them, falling over one another to deny the allegations.

“I’m fucking with you guys, calm down.”

Rafael chills a little at this. Turning his phone on, he grunts in disgust. “Great, the DA wants to see me.”

“What about?” Asks Camila.

“Probably to remind me for the tenth time that if I don’t get a conviction they’re going to ‘reevaluate’ my future with their office.”

“Gotta love the government.”

* * *

“When’s the trial?” Camila asks, sitting with Rafael on the loveseat in his apartment. They’ve got an episode of _Breaking Bad_ queued up on Rafael’s flatscreen, but they’ve discarded it in favor of talking about the case. 

“Tomorrow. Rita’s already bragged to me over text—we’re in for a fun time.” He says sarcastically. Rafael’s worried, for more than one reason. He’s worried that he’ll lose the case, he’s worried that Camila’ll do something wrong or be hurt on the stand, and he’s even more worried that he won’t be able to get justice for Felix. Sure, Allen’s also a part of this, but Rafael knows that ship has sailed.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_. Are you sure that I have to testify?”

“We both know that you have to,” he says. “You’re the ‘psychiatric expert’ that we used throughout the case, and you literally took notes on Cutwell earlier today—you know the case. I’ll prep you at the courthouse.”

“I don’t know if I can do it, Raf.” She’s having second thoughts. What if she freezes? What if she accidentally says something that’ll acquit Thom? What if she gets tripped up by Rita and fucks up the whole trial with her supposed ‘expert’ opinion? Camila had been ok with testifying throughout the investigation, sure, but now that the trial was looming in her future—in about 10 hours, to be precise—she’s hit with an influx of sheer anxiety.

Rafael looks at her face worriedly, silently observing the paleness of her clear skin. She’s whitened with nervousness, and he places a gentle kiss on her jawline, hoping to add some color to her face and ease her nerves a little. She gives him a small smile, but still hangs her head. “ _Cariña_ , I know how hard that'll be for you. But you have to trust me, _nena_. I know what I’m doing. I didn’t get a stellar conviction rate by neglecting my witnesses.” She smiles at his words of encouragement.

“Of course. After all, if you _do_ neglect me in any way, I guess I could just find another ADA,” she says jokingly.

“You could,” he agrees, nodding. “Who am I to stop you from settling for second best?”

“There’s that famous ego again.”

“What? Are we or are we not together because of my stellar prosecuting skills?”

“Not in the slightest.” At this point in their exchange of witty, sarcastic lines, her face has regained some of its lost colors, and she has a serene look as her new resting face, instead of one of worry. “Although, I am proud of you. You’re the best prosecutor; hell, the best _guy_ I know. If anyone’s going to win this case, it’ll be you. Besides, you’ve beat Rita before. Countless times, actually. I have complete faith in you, Rafael Barba—I always have.”

Now it’s his turn to be bashful. “I wasn’t worried, _cariña_ , but thank you all the same. That’s why I lo— _appreciate_ you so much.” Oh, man. Holy shit. He’d almost fucked up. Massively. Was it too early for the “L” word? Probably, he decides. Does he love her? Yeah, he does. He doesn’t want to admit it, to be honest, but at this point, he’s given up trying to fight and/or deny his feelings, especially for Camila.

“Besides, if you can teach me how to be the perfect ‘expert’ witness, then I can _definitely_ teach you how to dance one day.” He laughs loudly, remembering the time in her kitchen when she’d attempted to teach him a simple move.

“Camila Martínez, you are the patron saint of lost causes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: mira: look  
> 2: cariña: love  
> 3: nena: babe


	9. IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> court case. set in s17.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"last time i checked i wasn't born to please anyone"_

Armageddon has arrived. 

Or Judgement Day, whatever one wants to call it. Camila is testifying today, and she’s about to throw up all over her Gucci blouse.

Yeah, she’s about to be sick. 

She’s obviously never testified before, especially for a case as serious as this. Jury duty’s one thing, sure, but she’s never been one of the people that the jury’s actually had to pay any attention to. It’s truly nerve-wracking, and she’s been going over what she has to say since 4 in the morning. The absence of brevity in the whole situation is another thing that’s making her insane. 

Her palms are sweaty, her knees weak, and her arms heavy—no vomit on her sweater or any spaghetti for now—and she’s actually going to faint. Her anxiety is through the roof, but she knows that she has to be professional to the max. If the squad wants an indictment, she’ll have to be on her game today.

And with that thought, she hails a cab and is en route to the courthouse.

The giant, white, marble building is intimidating, to say the least. The hub of justice in front of her makes her nervous, of course. Then, she sees a group of people at the top of the stairs. The squad.

She climbs up the stairs quickly—or as quickly as she can in her Louboutins (a gift from Rafael). She witnesses Rollins and Barba conversing with worry in their faces, Carisi giving her a small wave, Fin looking nervous for once, and Benson on her phone, speaking to who she could assume would be Lucy, asking about Noah.

She waves back at Carisi in response, and he gives her a side hug, presumably noticing how she shakes slightly with every step.

“How’s it going, Martínez?” He asks softly, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. She gives him a grateful smile.

“It’s fine, Sonny. Really, it is.” She clarifies as he gives her a doubtful look. “I know what I have to say, and I know how to say it. I can help indict him, I swear. Besides, I’m not even testifying first—Liv is. Raf can prep me, and I know that he’ll make sure that I do fine.” He smiles at her, satisfied with her answer.

Then, she hears someone’s throat clear, and she turns around to see her boyfriend looking at her.

“Gonna say hello to your bo— _friend_ anytime soon, _cariña_?” She gives him a lopsided smile, and then goes to hug him.

“When are you gonna prep me, Rafael? I can’t screw this up, you know that.” She says, all business when she remembers that in addition to being her boyfriend, he’s also a prosecutor, and a good one at that.

“I’ll prep you now, actually. It’s 8:30 right now, the trial starts at nine. That’s more than enough time for us to go over what you’re going to say, ok?” 

“Great.” They walk into the building together, the team following them closely, exchanging looks as they lay eyes on Camila and Rafael’s shoulders brushing with every step. 

They walk into the empty courtroom, and she takes her seat on the stand, going over what she has to say in her head.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” They go over her testimony, and before they knew it, Camila is being ushered away from the courtroom, and it fills up, and before Rafael can process anything he’s being pushed forward to do his opening statement as Liv takes the stand.

“We were first approached by Allen Strokes, the son of Thom Cutwell and Felix Strokes, about rape allegations that he had made towards the both of them. As we continued investigating, we concluded, with the help of our expert psychologist, that Thom Cutwell was most probably the ringleader and the ‘alpha’ of this whole debacle. We were mid-investigation when we received news that Felix Strokes was murdered, so we decided to cancel our previous investigation. We had forensic and DNA evidence that pointed to Thom Cutwell as being the perpetrator.” 

Lieutenant Benson says her statement seamlessly and professionally. Camila isn’t allowed to sit in on the trial, but she can hear what Benson is saying faintly.

“And what evidence did you find?” Asks Barba.

“We found fingerprints on the murder weapon, as well as a strand of hair on the knife.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Benson.” Rafael says as he struts back to his table. “Nothing further.”

Rafael watches Rita stand up, and then give Liv a sarcastic smile.

“Good Morning, Lieutenant Benson. How are you today?”

“Just fine, Rita, thank you.”

“Now,” Rita begins. “You said originally that you were investigating my client and his spouse. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is,” Liv responds.

“May I ask _why_ you decided to end that investigation and commence with a new one?”

The Lieutenant pauses for a second before answering. “We believed that there was more evidence that wasn’t circumstantial for the new investigation. We were right.”

“Circumstantial,” Rita reiterates. “Circumstantial. Was there any actual evidence for this new crime? Sure, you’ve got a hair, but it could’ve been planted. You’ve got fingerprints, but it was a knife from _his_ kitchen. Obviously, there would be his prints on there. Heck, those could’ve been planted. Circumstantial is code for ‘not enough evidence’, am I right? If there wasn’t enough evidence for that last “case”, can you be sure that there’s enough for this case?”

“There is DNA evidence.” Benson says through her teeth.

“You could’ve planted it,” Rita counters. Rafael’s had enough.

“Objection—badgering the witness.” He exclaims to the judge.

“Withdrawn; nothing further,” Rita responds quickly, walking back to her table.

“Redirect, your Honor?” Rafael asks. With a nod of consent from the judge, he continues. “Lieutenant Benson, did you or anyone in the NYPD's Special Victim's Unit plant the evidence that implicated Thom Cutwell?”

“Absolutely not.” She responds.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Nothing further.” He sits down once more.

“You may step down, Lieutenant Benson.” The judge says, gesturing towards her. She gives a weak smile and eases herself off the stand. “Prosecution, please call your next witness.”

Rafael stands once more.

“The prosecution calls Camila Martínez.”

* * *

“So, Ms. Martínez, you are a licensed psychologist?”

“Correct,” she responds. “Have been for twelve years.”

“You’ve treated hundreds of patients. Have you ever come into contact with a patient that was like the defendant?”

“Never. Mr. Cutwell is……different from any other patient that I’ve ever treated before.”

“How so?” Asks Barba.

“For starters, he shows signs of being your classic power-assertive rapist. When the Special Victim’s Unit was investigating the rape claim, there was no doubt in my mind that he was guilty. He’s manipulative, cold, calculating, and very, _very_ smart.”

“Now, if you had to give a diagnosis to the defendant, what would you give?”

“Objection— requires speculation on the witness’ part.”

"She's an expert, your Honor."

The judge pauses for a moment, think it over, but speaks. “I’ll allow it to a point, Mr. Barba.”

Camila stutters for a second before responding. “Well…I would say that he exhibit’s sociopathic tendencies. I wouldn’t label him insane or unfit to stand trial, but I would definitely say that he needed professional help, medication, _anything_ to stop him from being a potential liability to himself and to those around him.”

“And finally,” Rafael continues. “In your…professional opinion, is the abuse that the defendant had received in his university years the primary cause of his current troubles?”

“An _iota_ of his current state is caused by the bullying he went through in his young adult years. It’s a moot question, but I think it’s fair to say that the symptoms he exhibits currently would most likely still be there even if he wasn’t tormented.”

“Thank you, Ms. Martínez, nothing further.”

At this, Rita stands up.

“So, you’re a forensic psychologist.”

“Oh no, I’m just a normal psychologist.”

“So, if you’re just a “normal psychologist”, how did you come across this case, then? Was it because of your relationship with the prosecutor?” She turns bright red at this. How did she know?

“Objection! Relevance?” Rafael practically screams.

“Goes to the credibility of the witness, your Honor.” The judge allows it, and Camila’s palms are sweating and she’s panicking slightly. Will her entire testimony be negated because of her boyfriend?

“Are you currently in a sexual relationship with the Counselor, Ms. Martínez?” She can’t lie under oath, and both Rafael and Camila know it.

“Yes.”

“Are you in a romantic relationship with the Counsel—actually don’t answer that.” She grabs a small remote, presses a button, and suddenly pictures of the two of them appear on the TV screen. 

She’s stunned. There are pictures of them at Forlini’s the night that they found out that Felix was dead. There are pictures of their connected hands, and quite possibly the worst one, there are pictures of them making out, pictures of her taking her shirt off.

“Those are the PG ones, Ms. Martínez. I have more, but….that wouldn’t be productive, would it?”

“Now that the jury has seen these, can they take what you’ve said so far at face value? Can what you’ve said be admissible, because of your clear bias? _Can you be trusted_?”

“Objection; this entire line of questioning is more prejudicial than probative.”

“Sustained— the jury will disregard. Tread carefully, Ms. Calhoun.”

Rita gives a smug smile nevertheless.

“Doesn't matter, your Honor. I have nothing further.” With this statement, she sits down, and Camila is ordered to step down. She leaves immediately after this—there's no way she's dealing with this without alcohol. 

The jury’s been deliberating for a day so far, and Camila has spent that day drinking Svedka until she couldn’t stand. She’s a private person, and having her relationship with Rafael outed in front of an entire courtroom was _not_ the way she wanted to tell the squad. After she had clarified that no, she was not biased because of her relationship, she had stepped down and left the courthouse, fuming. 

After the trial, Rafael had run after her, knowing that he’d find her at her place. He walks into her apartment, finding the door unlocked yet again, and is face to face with her, sitting at the kitchen counter, headphones in her ears, downing a shot.

“Camila.”

She lifts her head when he speaks. Her eyes are dry—she wasn’t crying. She never cries.

“Rita was just doing her job. You know that.” She takes out one headphone, gives him a long look, pours another shot, downed it, and then walks into her room, slamming the door.

“Leave. Now.”

He doesn’t of course. Rafael is stubborn to the max. He only hopes that this time that personality trait would help him out in this case. He barges in, just in time to see her slip on an oversized shirt and crawl into bed, unplugging her headphones and letting the dulcet tones of Elton John flow through the room. She sets eyes on him and sighs, presumably realizing that she won’t be able to get rid of him.

“Look,” she starts. “I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at Rita. I’m not angry. Just…exhausted. Really, really tired. And I just want to be alone.”

Just as Rafael’s about to speak, his phone dings.

“The jury’s in, ‘Mila. You up for a trip to the courthouse again?” She nods her head slowly, changing back into her work clothes with a disgruntled look on her face, annoyed at having to leave the comfort of her bed. They catch yet another taxi, the third one of the day, and arrive just in time for the verdict.

“Have you reached a verdict?”

“We have, your Honor.”

“What say you?”

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant, Thom Cutwell, guilty"

Holy shit. A huge smile erupts on Camila’s face. She’s practically beaming, she’s so happy. She’s testified on her first real case for the Special Victims’ Unit, and they got a guilty verdict. Sure, she isn’t the sole cause of the result. Lieutenant Benson’s testimony was particularly strong, and Rafael’s cross-examination of Thom was amazing. But she feels elated. Despite Rita’s antics, the jury had used her answers, and decided that she was credible and _not_ biased, and that was the biggest prize of all for her. 

She looks at Rafael, who’s packing up his things with a smile on his face, and she’s overcome with pride. This man is her boyfriend. _Her_ Rafael, South Bronx, Cuban, Harvard Law Graduate, Manhattan Assistant District Attorney had won yet another case, and she couldn’t be more proud of him. She’s sat in on his other trials before, of course, and his wins are practically ubiquitous, but she obviously has a soft spot for this case. She knows how hard they’d worked to get a conviction, and finally, the fruit of their labors had appeared.

And Camila Martínez, in front of a completely full courtroom, gets up, crosses the aisle to come face to face with Rafael, and kisses him, long and slow. Did she mention that it was in front of _everyone_? At first, he’s a little surprised but slowly melts into her. He smiles into the kiss, and pulls away slightly so their faces are almost touching.

“Nice job, _nena_. I’m so proud of you. And me, actually. I’m particularly proud of me.” A laugh of delight escapes from her lips as she turns away from him, helping him pack up the few things still at the table.

“You did well, Rafi. Really well. Can we head back to your place so I can, you know…show you how well you did?” His face darkens, presumably with arousal, but then his face falls.

“I’ve got after-case paperwork, _cariña_. I’m sorry.” She pouts playfully.

“ _Papi_.” She begins, hoping that’ll get him worked up enough to disregard the paperwork. She can see his resolve weaken, but then he smirks.

“So eager, aren’t we? I can’t do today, but we can hang tomorrow morning, how ‘bout that? I’ll give you a free ride in my office sometime to make up for it.”

“I won’t forget, Rafael—you know that, right?” He nods and kisses her on the cheek as a goodbye, speed walking out of the courthouse, going to his office. She turns around slowly, touching the spot on her cheek where his lips had been just moments before. She then sets eyes on the team, and her heart sinks at what they’ll say, considering that they now knew of her relationship with their ADA. “I know what you’re thinking, guys, I should’ve—.” Fin holds up a hand to stop her.

“We aren’t mad, Martínez. We just want to know how good he is in bed.” He says, stifling a laugh successfully. Until, of course, he turns to Rollins and Benson, and they burst out laughing. Camila frowns at them playfully but refuses to answer his question.

“No comment, Fin. None. At. All. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get a drink to celebrate.”

“How about you come with us?” Carisi speaks up. “We always go out for drinks after a case. Join us?”

“Lead the way, detective.”

The squad and Camila arrive at a nearby bar when they’re greeted by none other than Rita Calhoun, holding a wine glass and talking to the bartender. “Rita,” Camila calls out. “Fancy seeing you here. Out any more relationships yet?” Rita gives her a stony look but leans in to whisper to her.

“Between you and me—you guys make a good couple. I know that you weren’t biased. Just had to do my job, you know? Also, I’ve known Barba since Harvard, and, contrary to popular belief, I _do_ care about him. Please, for his sake, don’t break his heart. Yelina Munóz did just that back in college, and he was devastated for the rest of the year. Just…don’t fuck up. Please.”

Camila nods understandingly. She was there for the Alex Munóz trial a year ago, and it was brutal to watch Rafael go up against his childhood friend. “Duly noted, Rita.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1: cariña: love  
> 2: nena: babe  
> 3: papi: daddy (yikes)


	10. X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jealousy!!!!! and sex!!!!! what a great combo!!!!! that nobody fucking asked for!!!!! like this is literally 2k words of sex. pure pwp. if you want nsfw, this chapter is the oNe for you!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"i talk to god about you"_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **-a six word story**

Rafael Barba works way too fucking much.

And _that’s_ the tea.

Sure, work itself isn’t inherently bad. Work gives him money, and, as everyone knows, money makes the damn world go ‘round. But Camila is sick of work. Really, really fucking sick. Not _her_ work, though. Her work is flexible. She has vacation days, allowed time off, an adaptable work agenda, making it easy to schedule things. No, it's her boyfriend’s work that irritates her to no end. The long hours and copious amounts of stress mix together to create the worst possible cocktail. 

Deep down, she knows that his work isn’t intrinsically bad. He loves his job, he really does. Hell, _she_ loves his job. But she’s seen what the job does to him—in more than one way. 

“You know.” Camila had said to him once when they were lying next to each other on his bed. “I’ve been reading your case files for fun, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the same damn drama king in the courtroom as you are in the bedroom.” He laughed at this, she remembers and assures her that his different personalities tend to bleed together. “Especially when I’m with _una chica bonita como tú_ ”

Speaking of personalities, she thinks as she lazes around in her room (the current setting of all of these…interesting thoughts), he’s got three.

There were three versions of Camila’s boyfriend: ADA Barba, his snarky, over-the-top work personality, ‘Baby’ Rafael, his caring, tender, sweet personality that was only ever shown when he was with her or his mother, and _papi_ Rafael, the dominant, sultry man that, for lack of a better phrase, _fucked her good. Consistently._

Now, she doesn’t mind any of them. They make up who he is to her, and she loves every one of them. But sometimes she wishes that she could see _him_. Not any of his alter ego’s, just Rafael. Plain, simple, Rafael. Truth be told, they hadn’t exactly had a formal conversation about their relationship status, level of seriousness, or any such thing that pertains to their relation to one another. But she knows how he feels, and he sure as hell should know how _she_ feels.

Thoughts like this zoom out of her head at light speed when her phone plays Michael Jackson’s _Smooth Criminal_ , the slightly ironic song of choice for Camila’s boyfriend’s personalized ringtone.

“Hey, Raf. What’s up?” She asks casually, twirling a strand of hair absentmindedly around her index finger.

“Nothing, really. Can you meet me at that one bar on 47th?” He asks quickly.

She laughs lightly at his ardor. “Sure. What’s the special occasion?” She can practically _feel_ his face turn red when he speaks.

“No occasions to be seen. Just want to meet you somewhere, _hermosa_.” The pet name leaves his mouth barely above a whisper, and now it’s _her_ turn to blush.

“Well, alright then. I’ll leave now?” He agrees, and she puts the phone down, changing into something nice. The bar at that address was…fancy, to say the least. She guesses he just wants a drink.

And yeah, for the fifth time today, Rafael _needs_ a drink.

Thankfully, this time he wanted one for all the right reasons. He had won the Cutwell case, and he couldn’t be happier. Prior to his win, the four times that he had craved a drink were during events that made him want to rip his own hair out. 

Delightedly, he’d asked Camila to meet him at the bar that he used to frequent in his college days (back when he could con his way into fancy places like that). Plus, he finished his paperwork early. He’s currently liking to tell himself that _that’s_ the reason that he’d like to meet her—not, of course, his need for a nice glass of Bowmore.

When he arrives at the bar, though, he’s greeted with a not-so-friendly-sight:

 _His_ girlfriend, being obviously hit on by two men, that were clearly _not_ him.

Now, Rafael is not typically a jealous type of man. Sure, he can get jealous when some of his friends seem to be getting closer to others in favor of him. He was definitely jealous when his ex-girlfriend, Yelina, was being hit on by other guys, including his best friend Alex, at bars during his college days. 

Regardless of this history, and his personal notes to himself, detailing how he should respond when someone pulls something like this, he can’t help but feel a little jealous at this sight.

Ok, maybe a _lot_ jealous. His normal modus operandi is to join the squad, and sulk-slash-bitch to them about the current situation. He’s now liking to think that he’s branching off from his regular antics because he’s a new, changed man, but he knows that it’s because the squad isn’t here. With that, he finally decides to deviate from his personal norm and be a little bit confrontational. 

Ok, maybe a _lot_ confrontational.

He makes up for his slightly vertically challenged physical self with his large, sometimes over the top personality, and with these random, white, presumably rich bar-goers he’ll have to pull out all his tricks. Thank God he wore his fancy stuff today. 

As he walks over, though, it dawns on him that he really has absolutely no words for this situation.

Well, he does. They’re incredibly explicit, though, and would hinge on multiple assumptions about the unnamed bar guy’s mothers. Instead of saying any of the phrases he wants to say, though, he goes with his patented mix of snarky and blithe.

“ _Cariña_ ,” he beings. “Glad I got to catch you before you went off without me. You wanna call it a day, or…?” He asks, self-assuredness coursing through his veins and into his movements. She turns around to him, and, surprisingly, bites her lip at him and smirks.

“Actually, I was about to start dancing with these two lovely, smart, _available_ men. Some other time, maybe?” 

And with this, she lets them drag her onto the makeshift dance floor at the back of the bar. Of course, the music changes into something sensual but fast, and he watches her dance quite provocatively with the two men. Interestingly, during the whole ordeal, she makes eye contact with him, and he can tell that she’s undressing him with her eyes—but why? Why bother acting like that with two strangers when she could just go home with him? 

Then it hits him: she’s _trying_ to make him jealous. And it’s working. Oh yes, it’s working.

Soon enough, he’s sick of being some sort of voyeur in this peculiar situation. He’s about to get up to confront her yet again, however before he can even get up to find them, he sees another figure approaching the three people of interest on the dance floor. What is this, a foursome in the middle of the fucking _bar_? But when the lighting shifts to illuminate the mystery man’s face, he’s hit with a wave of relief. It’s Carisi. What’s he doing here? But, of course, thank _God_ he’s there. Hopefully, he’s come to lecture her on the dangers of teasing (Rafael knows that’s absolutely not why he’s there, but hey, a guy can dream).

 _Finally_ , Rafael gets up, internally resolving to put this…situation on hold, keeping his eyes trained on his girlfriend and his coworker.

But then, he sits back down. _Fuck_ , he’s gotta work on being forceful towards himself. He needs more self-control, he really does. So, acknowledging his _complete_ lack of discipline, he sits down once again.

Soon enough, though, Rafael grows impatient. Camila’s been dancing with those guys for more than twenty minutes, and her movements are making him, well, _excited_. He shifts uncomfortably and catches her eye as she winks teasingly at him. _Oh, she’s good_. He can’t take it anymore. Watching her undulate in time to the music dressed like _that_ makes him want to drag her back to his place and bend her over the kitchen island. Or the coffee table. Or the kitchen table. Or his desk. Or _any_ table-like surface.

He stands up, this time resolving to solve the issue, and walks over to her with a determined look in his eye. He lays his hand on her shoulder, jolting her out of her haze.

“Rafael? _Todo bien_?” She asks, a twinkle of amusement in her eye.

“No. We’re leaving.” And with this, he takes her by the arm and leads her off the dance floor, seething as he sees her wave goodbye to the men she was dancing with.

As soon as the door to his apartment slams shut, he turns to her, voice rising as he gets more and more genuinely vexed. 

“What the _fuck_ is your problem? Are you trying to get me worked up on purpose?” He asks. “What, pray, is the purpose of trying to get me jealous?”

She smirks, but her eyes are apologetic—if that’s even possible.

“You do realize that you’ve never had sex with me when you’re angry before, right?”

This fact hits him. They haven’t, actually. 

“You in the mood for rough sex, _cariña_?”

“Always am.”

And that’s all he needs to hear from her. As soon as the phrase escapes her lips, he’s at them, furiously nipping at her bottom lip as his tongue snakes into her mouth. And she’s kissed him before. She’s kissed him before countless times. But his tongue, reaching into her mouth, his lips melting against hers, his love, his lust, his passion—it always amazes her. 

Rafael chuckles against her lips, finding her enthusiasm endearing, but the laugh doesn’t last long. Cheeky as ever, she grinds her center against his crotch, and he releases a breath he doesn’t realize he’s holding. She groans into the kiss because of this, and her hands go to his hair, as they always do, combing through it and tugging softly. He hisses into her mouth as she tugs, and practically _drags_ her to his room, giving her a once-over when they get there.

“This outfit looks good on you and all, but I’m sure it’d look even better on the floor.”

“Good point.”

And with that, she sheds her clothes, leaving her in little to nothing. She starts at his clothes, practically tearing them off of him. He winces a little when he hears something on his $300 shirt rip—presumably a button. He soon returns the favor, though, by literally tearing the sheer fabric that separated her from him into two pieces.

“Hey, those were my favorite,” Camila pouts as she looks at the torn undergarments that now sit on the floor.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he replies with a cheeky smile. She continues pouting, though, wanting to see what he’ll do to cheer her up.

“Will you be difficult this entire night, or are you gonna let me make it up to you?” 

“I’m sorry, Counselor,” she replies in the sultriest tone she can muster, catching on to his intentions. He, barely keeping his groan at her tone inside his mouth, beckons to the floor in front of him.

“Suck.” He commands. But Camila, keeping up with the theme of the night so far, decides to be a bit of a brat.

“You gonna say please, _papi_? Because I won’t touch you unless you beg.” At her boldness, his expression goes stony. He pulls her up from her position on the floor in front of her, and sucks on her neck harshly before whispering into her ear.

__

__

“I’m in charge, _cariña_. Always have been, always. Fucking. Will. Be. Get it?” 

She decides to indulge him. “Of course, _papi_.” 

He smirks, satisfied with her response. 

“Now, tell me…what do you want to do?” 

“Taste you. _Please_.” She practically begs. 

Well, who was he to refuse her? He leads her again to the position she was in before—on her knees, between his legs, looking up at him with innocent, doe eyes. Without warning, she swiftly takes him into her mouth, smiling around his length serenely, providing a contrast to the choked moan that escapes Rafael’s mouth as he registers her wet mouth around him. 

“Fuck, _hermosa_ …just like that… _shit_.” He forces words out in between moans as she gets him off, going torturously slow. 

Soon enough, he can’t take her slow, leisurely pace anymore. He beings to fuck her face, fisting his hand in her hair, growling under his breath in both Spanish and English. “That's it, _cariña_.” He then snaps his fingers and demands, “Keep looking at me,” when he sees her getting too into pleasuring him (he wasn’t complaining though, of course). When he feels something rise up in his abdomen, he pulls her off of him swiftly, giving her a second to cough, and fill her lungs with some much-needed air. 

Camila stands up on her own this time, dropping down onto the bed next to him, lying down against the pillows, beckoning Rafael to her. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now there’s a good chance I’ll kill you,” she says, about as seriously as one can manage when the slickness between their legs can be felt. 

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth.” He says, coming up on top of her, positioning himself at her entrance. But Rafael, being the _biggest fucking tease ever_ , simply rubs his cock between her folds, not pushing into her whatsoever. 

“I can’t wait,” she whines out, craving more friction. “Need you. Feels so good.” He, deciding to not tease her anymore for now, obliges, and thrusts into her instantaneously, making her let out a low moan. 

She lets herself become lost in the pleasure. The feeling of his length brushing up against her sweet spot with every thrust literally almost makes her spontaneously combust right then and there. She’s breathing him in, reveling at the tiny gasps and sounds that he absolutely cannot help himself from making. 

She tugs at his hair yet again, nails raking down his back as he thrusts into her harder, her actions seeming to push him closer to his own release. He kisses her neck, biting into her shoulder. 

“Fuck…so good. So tight. This all for me?” he asks, voice shaky and out of breath. 

“Yes. All for you, _Jesucristo_ ” She whines, all of her senses stimulated to the max. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that, _papi_ ,” she whines. “ _Fuck_.” 

Her hips rise to meet his, and with a few more thrusts she’s going over the edge, convulsing around him, back arching off the bed. She’s vaguely aware of Rafael groaning in his mother tongue, words held together with moans and curses. This time he doesn’t tease her quite as much as she’d anticipated. He was lost in his own thirst, after all. His thrusting becomes more and more erratic, and just as she thinks he’s going to climax, he stops. 

“You up for another one, _cariña_?” He asks. 

“Always am,” she reiterates with a smirk, panting the words out. 

And he gives it to her, hard. With every thrust, she squeaks. Soon, those squeaks of pleasure turn into curses, which turn into moans, which turn into moans so loud that she has to bite his shoulder to keep her from annoying his entire upscale apartment complex. 

“I thought,” she forces out between moans. “You would be the nice Catholic boy my mom always wanted me to end up with, _papi_.” Her words make him throb inside of her, but it also makes his eyes darken, and his hips piston into her. 

“I’m no boy.” His words were low, practically grunts. “An’ I’m decidedly not _nice_.” He thrusts into her at a new angle, making her face screw up in pleasure, mouth opening. 

“Evidence, Counselor?” 

“Exhibit A,” he replies, and, if this was even possible (she has no idea), he thrusts faster, with more power, until his headboard was hitting the wall, and she almost felt bad for his neighbor because they definitely know what was going on next door and _goddamn_ he’s good in bed and holy shit she’s about to come again. She lets out a high pitched moan as she climaxes, and with a groan, he releases inside of her, slowing down as it occurs.

He slips out of her and lays next to her, catching his breath and smiling at her, a genuine smile. “You’re cute, you know that, right _monada_?” She smiles at his words. 

“You know, you're really very sweet underneath that grumpy lawyer exterior," she said. 

He snorts in disdain. “Only when I’m with you. Defense attorneys aren’t usually intimidated by ‘sweet’. 

"Well, I’m not an attorney. And I’ll be the first to tell you—you can be _incredibly_ sweet and nice when you want to.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. una chica bonita como tú: a pretty girl like you  
> 2\. papi: daddy (oof)  
> 3\. hermosa: beautiful  
> 4\. cariña: love  
> 5\. todo bien: all good  
> 6\. jesucristo: jesus christ  
> 7\. monada: beauty


	11. Star-Struck Victims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short ass chapter bc ya girl got finals but hey issa new case!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"This morning's forecast: 100% chance of coffee."_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **-Keith Wynn**

Camila wakes up to extreme pain.

Well, maybe that’s a slight overreaction. It’s not extreme, but her legs hurt like hell. But why? Did she run a marathon? Did she make the spontaneous decision to get into yoga? These thoughts flutter in and out of her head, until, of course, she looks down at her chest. It’s littered with bruises, ranging in color from dark red to purplish-blue.

 _Oh_.

Then she remembers the events that transpired last night. How angry Rafael was when she was flirting with those other guys, the way she danced with them, and, of course, quite possibly the best sex she had ever had. That seems to be the cause of the ache in her legs, and the cause of the bruises that littered her chest and (presumably) her neck area.

Taking a deep breath to prepare her for the inevitable pain, she swings her legs to the side, planting her feet on the ground and standing up in one fluid movement. “ _Shit_ ,” she whisper-screams. She then throws on Rafael’s discarded dress shirt, which comes to about halfway down her thigh. She can faintly hear voices outside the door, and Camila assumes that he must’ve put on the TV, or a podcast, or was maybe even talking to himself. 

Doesn’t take an SVU detective to smell the coffee, though.

She knows that Rafael needs to have at least two cups in the morning, but this scent was strong. Was he already on cup four? It was a weekend, for God’s sake! If anything, he was robbing her of a fresh cup, so she decides to exit his room, calling out to him as she walks to his kitchen.

“Rafael Barba, you _better_ have saved me a cup—especially since you’re responsible for the ache from my lower body down. It actually hurts to walk, jackass.” She calls as she runs her hand through her hair absentmindedly, pushing it to one side after parting it to the side messily.

All of this ends when she walks into the kitchen itself, and is greeted with quite possibly the most horrific sight ever: the entire squad. Like, the squad plus Chief Dodds. Chief fucking _Dodds_ is in his kitchen, and had just heard her publicly imply that Rafael and Camila had done something that would make her ache. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what that something was. This was more than bad. It was egregious (an SAT word that she’s somehow remembered from her high school years).

Her mouth falls open automatically as she lays eyes on everyone. They also freeze when they see her, and she’s suddenly hyperaware of what she’s wearing, and how she looks. No makeup, a very revealing “dress” and, of course, the copious amount of bruises littering her exposed skin. She finally meets Rafael’s eyes, and holy shit.

Oh, if looks could kill, famous ADA Rafael Barba would be rotting behind bars.

No one speaks for what seems like a lifetime, until the Chief decides to open his mouth.

“Martínez, what are you doing here?”

“What am _I_ doing here? What the hell are all of _you_ doing here?” She claps a hand over her mouth when the snark becomes apparent in her words, though. She just mouthed off to the Chief of all the Special Victims Units in the city. 

Fuck.

“We were in the area, and decided to drop by,” answers Amanda.

“All of you?”

“Yeah,” Amanda responds sheepishly.

Silence falls again, until Mike wolf whistles teasingly.

“Damn, Barba—still don’t know how you scored _her_.” he says jokingly, earning a smirk from Camila, and a murderous look from Rafael.

“ _Cariña_ ,” Rafael begins sweetly. “Can we talk for a second?” Without waiting for an answer, he crosses the area and pulls her into the room next to the kitchen, closing the door behind them.

“What the fuck are they doing here?!” Camila shouts as soon as the door closes. He jumps a little at her volume, covering her mouth with his hand in an attempt to silence her.

“Don’t yell, dumbass—they’ll be able to hear. Something you apparently can’t do, seeing as Rollins told you literally thirty seconds ago. And did you have to say such a…graphic good morning to me?” Rafael has a tense tone running through his voice, but it turns to cockiness with the next sentence.

“Like, I know I’m good in bed, but I had no idea I was _that_ go—.” She interrupts his wordlessly with her hand, shushing him by pressing her index finger to his lips. He looks at her in confusion, but says nothing when she gestures to the closed door, and creeps towards it slowly, making sure that her movements emit no noise. She suddenly reaches out and snaps the door wide open, and she becomes face to face with Fin, Rollins and Dodds, all huddled against the door, presumably trying to eavesdrop.

“Seriously?” Asks Camila, feeling exasperated with her friends.

“Well, now we know how he is in bed,” Fin responds, a wide grin on his face. “Mission: Accomplished.”

* * *

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“My thoughts are worth _way_ more, but for you I’ll make an exception, I guess,” Camila says jokingly over her dinner. Rafael and Camila are at an incredibly fancy restaurant, and she had ordered the special dish of the night, which was some sort of fish with an absolutely awful sauce covering it. “This tastes like…regret. But with a hint of lime.” He laughs softly, gesturing to her plate.

“May I?” She agrees, he takes a bite, and his face is the picture of surprise. “This is amazing—what the hell are you on about?” He exclaims.

“What the hell am _I_ on about? What the hell are you _tasting_?” She asks in shock.

“Something far more delicious than you are, apparently.” Rafael responds cheekily. “But, y’know, I don’t blame you for hating it. Some people just have more, how should I say it, _sophisticated_ palettes than others, I gue—”

“Bull. Shit.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, he’s already preparing a comeback, but, of course, his phone decides to chirp from the pocket of his pants.

“Barba. Yeah, hey Liv. Really? Jesus. You know, right now is just not the best ti—whatever, okay, calm down. I get it, she’s fragile. Can I bring Camila? Okay, okay, shit, yeah, thank you so much, I owe you.” That’s all of the parts she can decipher from Rafael’s response, considering that he was speaking a mile a minute.

“Rafi, everything okay?”

“Internet vlogger was raped. We’re gonna have to cut this short, _cariña_ , I’m so sorry. Liv said you could come with, though. You up to witness a master at work?”

“You really just radiate hubris sometimes, don’t you?” She replies teasingly. “Regardless of that, sure. It’ll beat having to suffer through any more of this mess,” she says again, gesturing to the plate of fish—or was it chicken? “Wouldn’t want to ruin your nice suit by throwing up on it, after all.”

“I’m offended by your implications,” Rafael responds. “ _All_ my suits are nice.”

And as the exchange of witty banter comes to a close, the couple stands up, paying and exiting the upscale restaurant in the heart of the city. Grabbing a cab, they sit in silence all the way, both contemplating the potential new case.

“Her name’s Kristi Cryer, she makes internet videos as a hobby, and she claims that Bobby D’Amico raped her at his nightclub, along with the manager, some guy named Noel Panko.” Rollins explains as Rafael and Camila enter the squad room.

“ _Bobby D’Amico_? How’d a teenage vlogger get involved with _him_?”

“I don’t know. Girl’s pretty dedicated to her “profession”—she recorded our questioning of her at the hospital,” Carisi states. “It was a little strange, to say the least. Anyways, witnesses say that Kristi was flirting up a storm with D’Amico, so that doesn’t help her out.”

“That doesn’t matter. Whether she flirted or not, it’s still rape if she said no.” Camila says. Benson nods her head in agreement.

“Yeah, that may be, but to a jury it’s detrimental. It’ll look bad.” Carisi responds.

“It genuinely pains me to say this, but Carisi’s right,” Rafael says. “If this goes to trial, details like that are gonna screw it up. Is there security footage?”

“Of course there is,” Dodds says. “There always is with these types of cases. We looked at it already—it doesn’t look good for her. At all.”

“With these kinds of cases…the footage is never good. Well, for the victim, at least. The footage’s _great_ for D’Amico.” Benson adds, jumping into the conversation.

Carisi turns on the precinct’s iPad, presses play on a video, and slides the iPad across the table to Rafael. The footage shows Kristi on the dance floor with who he presumes is her best friend. They look ecstatic. Kristi’s grinding on her friend _and_ on other people—one of them being Bobby D’Amico himself. Rafael fast forwards a little until the timestamp shows 12:30 AM, about thirty minutes after the alleged assault. And lo and behold, it’s Kristi, dancing just as provocatively as before—if not more—with a large smile on her face. Rafael makes a face of disdain, and turns the iPad off.

“Great. First we have a witness that is addicted to letting strangers into her life to the point where she records your questioning of her, and after she’s allegedly raped in a bathroom, she returns to the dance floor zealously. This is just _perfect_.” Rafael says, pure sarcasm radiating off of him.

“We’re with you, Counselor. This is bad.” Rollins says. As soon as the last word leaves her mouth, her phone dings. “It’s a Google alert,” she reports to the squad. “Kristi’s just posted a new YouTube video, and from the looks of the title, it’s about the rape.”

“ _Fabulous_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cariña: love


	12. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a blurb bc i've been busy w TWO mental hospital visits@

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayoo im back

Rafael Barba is, in addition to being a tenured professor in the Department of Crooked Smirks with a side appointment in the Firm of Smoldering Eyes, also a good boyfriend. Or, at least, he thinks of himself as one. Camila is, after all, the only one that can judge that for sure. But it’s ok, he guesses. It causes him slight pain/anxiety to think about whether she considers him a good partner, but he has to deal. After all, without pain, how could he know joy? 

(This is an old argument in the field of Thinking About Suffering—a stupid one at that. Contrary to popular belief, the existence of broccoli does not impact the taste of chocolate).

What, pray, is he doing right now? Why, he’s making the most of his seven day vacation. Yes, seven whole days of vacation. For the uninitiated, vacation to Rafael means that he has no need for case files, conference calls, or cheap yet easily accessible scotch. It means _Mad Men,/i >, _The Sopranos__ , good quality whiskey from his personal stash, and, arguably the most important, Camila. She has zero appointments for the whole week, so she won’t have to leave his apartment. To his knowledge though, she does have some paperwork. But he can distract her.

Oh yes, he can distract her.

He also prides himself on being a good distractor. Kind of ironic, considering he refuses to be temped by anything while he’s working. He has memories of his father hitting him because he came into his study without knocking by accident. Come to think of it, the desk in his apartment is his father’s old desk. There was no utterly poignant memory or feeling when he looked at it. It’s not like he has a flashback of his dad spinning him around in a desk chair behind the desk, or some other stupid metaphorically resonant action. It’s just a desk. Plain and simple. 

Anyways.

The main thing about this vacation is that the can finally sleep in. As a rule, Rafael Barba gets about four to six hours of sleep a night. It’s better when Camila pays a visit (because she tires him out), but all in all he needs his sleep. Speaking of Camila. he should call her—see if she can hang for the whole week. She has friends, a life and a job. He can’t and won’t assume that she can just drop everything to stay with him.

“Hey, Raf.”

“Hi, _niña_. I have a seven day vacation. You know what that means?”

“Seven consecutive days of rough sex?” He laughs at her bluntness.

“Yes, but that’s not all, idiot. It means that you can stay over if you’d like. Or if you wouldn’t like—I don’t care. Just stay…please?”

She lets out a sigh, and he can practically hear her frown. 

“Rafael. I have a cat, remember? I’m not leaving ‘im alone for a week with one of my friends.”

“You have a cat?”

She sighs again, louder this time, into the phone. “Rafael, I wish I could come, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Fine,” he says. “Then I’ll come to you.”

“Knock yourself out, Barba. You ready for seven days of my cooking?”

“Always.”

Thirty minutes later, its been ten minutes into a text conversation with Rafael and it hasn’t gotten sexual yet, which is a miracle in and of itself.

_What’s your cat’s name, again?_

_kitty_

_Seriously?_

_i had a stuffed cat when i was young and i named him kitty ok hop off my dick_

_I can’t believe that you named your cat after its own species. That’s like naming your kid “Homo Sapien”._

_I NAMED HIM WHEN I WAS YOUNGER OK THAT WAS BACK WHEN IT WAS ACCEPTABLE TO NAME YOUR STUFFED ANIMAL AFTER ITS HUE_

_But you didn’t name him after its hue—you named it after its species._

_“IT????” also fuck you_

_I believe you already have, niña._

_jesus fucking christ rafi_

_I have to go. See you tonight, cariña._

_bye rafi_

_nice chat i guess_

_Love you, ‘Mila_

 

Camila closes her phone, sighing. _This man_. But she loves him, she really does. She remembers his last boyfriend, Eduardo, who worked at a library. He was a funny guy, with amazing arms, and was pretty good in bed, but there was a disconnect when it came to interests, habits, hobbies, et cetera. He was into movies like _300_ , which specialize in the sort of convoluted and unnecessary battles wherein no one really loses anything of any value, except arguably their lives. 

In addition, he was a big fan of those graphic novels starring hyper masculine soldiers who regularly throw themselves on top of grenades to save metaphorical children, and who regularly get sh—oh, come on, he’s not really going to _survive_ those thirteen bullet wounds, will he? (Spoiler alert: He does.)

But then she met Rafael Barba, who came into her world and fucking made it _implode_ with ever positive human emotion in the book. And now, the asshole is going to be in her house for a week—a week! Thank God her bed is king sized. She makes a killer mac ’n cheese, though. And that makes up for whatever she lacks in the culinary department.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im too lazy to put the spanish translations but yALL KNOW WHAT THE FUCK CARIÑA MEANS OK


	13. XIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And if I asked you to name all the things that you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> won't be getting to the case itself for a while—sorry :( for now it's just filler until my AP classes stop being AP classes
> 
> (also haven't been on here in a goddamn while, how's everyone doing?)

She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow, somehow simultaneously. She was a queen.

Or at least that's what Rafael’s trying to tell himself while she's being annoying.

It’s day one of the Kristi case, and already this is shaping up to be a bad, bad situation. This girl is, for a lack of a better phrase, a bitch and a half. She’s insufferable. She’s annoying, spoilt, and so caught up in Bobby D’Amico that she can barely be coherent for a damn second. She’s a walking contradiction—if she says one thing, the video in turn says another thing. If she feels something, she’ll exhibit behavior that isn’t on par with what she’s saying.

But she’s been raped. And that’s something that cannot be ignored.

These thoughts bring her to where she is now: in the precinct, watching (but barely listening to) Carisi asking Barba stupid questions while they wait for Benson and Rollins to finish up with Kristi and her mom.

“All right, well, technically, cops are not allowed to talk to them without their lawyers present, right? What if while the cops are illegally talking to them, they commit a crime?”

“That's a fun question for a bar exam.”

As they’re about to go at it again, the door opens, and Rollins and Benson walk out with Kristi and her mom, leading them out the door. As soon as they’re gone, they come back, grim looks on their faces.

“It’s gonna be clear to the jury that she’s exaggerating for getting views on her channel, or whatever.”

“ _Shit_.” Barba replies, running his hand through his hair.

“…Yeah.”

“So how do we catch him?” Camila pipes up, unaware of how vehemently _shitty_ the situation was.

“Right now?” Benson says. “We focus on making Kristi reliable.”

* * *

Camila and Rafael are a lot of things. Psychologist, prosecutor, boyfriend, girlfriend, et cetera. But neither of them are lifestyle coaches.

Sadly, that's what they're been reduced to.

When Camila first began working with Manhattan SVU, she did not expect for this to happen. She might as well put on her track pants, because she's a full on _coach_ of this...subpar victim. They've been tasked with the unpleasant objective of getting her ready for trial, and creating a solid testimony. But this is easier said than done, seeing as she's insufferable and clearly has a crush on Rafael. Why? She has no idea. He's _hers_. And he would agree with that in a heartbeat.

This brings her back to the present: trying to get Kristi to get her story straight in Rafael's office—which is just not happening.

"But I _said_ what happened! This is bullshit."

Camila and Rafael verbally scoff, almost in sync.

"Look," Camila begins in a soft voice. But she's interrupted by Kristi, visibly annoyed at her presence.

"Who invited Hispanic Barbie to the party again?" Camila's jaw tightens, and Rafael visibly tenses up. He's about to say something sharp back at her, but Camila puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, signifying that it isn't worth it to get into an arguement this early in the game.

"Calm down, _nena_ —this isn't worth it," she whispers. He simmers down slightly, but she can sense the anger radiating off of him. Apparently, no one talks to his girl like that and escapes unscathed. So naturally, he decides to be a little, well, mean. She wants a reality check? Well, she's gonna get one.

"The video contradicts every word that came out of your mouth. You're a freakin' master at lying, it seems, and we aren't going to get anywhere with this case if you don't tell us the truth. You want him to go away for life? Well then you're gonna have to work for it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad spanish:
> 
> 1\. nena - babe
> 
> also its a short ass chapter - will make them longer soon!


	14. XIV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Everything has changed and yet, I am more me than I have ever been."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to apologize for not updating, here's some good old smut
> 
> you're so welcome
> 
> listening to the mia khalifa diss track as i write this, if that'll help set the tone

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Rafael is conflicted to the max. On one hand, he has to go over the case files. But on the other hand, his girlfriend looks like a motherfucking goddess in black, and he wants nothing more than to bend her over the desk in his office. Sadly, they aren't in his office - they're at her apartment, and she's getting ready for a stakeout of sorts. That's right, Camila Martínez, psychologist - turned - SVU informat was about to investigate the club and D'Amico himself with Amanda Rollins.

And he's a little nervous. He doesn't want her to be the next victim. Of course she won't, but Rafael's a cautious man.

She applies her lip liner with a flourish, and spins out of the joint bathroom to rejoin her boyfriend on the bed.

"I'm...sure," he says reluctantly. He gives her a once-over, and his heart nearly stops beating. A black skirt and top accompany a simple pair of slim sneakers. The juxtaposition of the two make something inside of him stir - especially when her long legs are staring him right in the face. At his response, she smirks.

"You don't sound so sure to me, Mr. Barba," she says, rolling her "r", making his eyes flash with arousal.

“You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

"But of course," she says. "What's the fun in not doing so?"

'"My sanity'll be preserved, for starters."

"You know," she starts. "You could always crash the party."

"You know," he imitates. "I'm not the biggest fan of clubs."

She pouts playfully, but takes her time in stradding him on the bed. “Do you want me to stay in?” She leaned in close, intentionally revealing just enough of her skin to allow him to realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra with the tight top, and kissed his neck softly before her lips brushed his earlobe. “We could have our own party.” His shoulders tensed, the slight erection that he was developing rubbing against her core, before he brought her to him for a searing kiss. Breaking away, her voice was hoarse, breathing labored, “Is that a yes, Mr. Barba?”

"Go to the fuckin' thing, _amor_. I'll be here, and I expect something after this is over." She smirks at his pained look (again), and stands up, hips swaying as she walks out the door.

"'Course, Counselor."

* * *

The 'stakeout' goes pretty well, and Rollins has a vague idea of the setting that the rape went down in. They had met D'Amico, and he was more than willing to check out Camila's ass multiple times. All in all, it was a success, but Camila isn't thinking about that right now.

Right now, all she wants to do is, for lack of a better word, screw her boyfriend. She knows he's been waiting for upwards of three hours, and she _also_ knows that patience is not one of his virtues. So, she takes pity on him, taking the first cab to her apartment. As she steps in the door, she's greeted with a sight: her boyfriend, illustrious ADA Rafael Barba, pacing up and down the kitchen floor. Until, of course, he sees her. Taking in her appearence - skirt hiked up slightly, top riding up to show a sliver of her abdomen, shoes kicked off haphazardly. The sight makes him incredibly aroused, but he decides to hold off on his feelings, instead attempting to engage in small talk.

"So,how was the clu-"

But before he can even finish his sentence, her lips are on his, biting down with such ferocity that he's sure he'll have a bruise tomorrow. "I was thinking about this all day," she whispers in his ear as he turns his attention to getting her skirt off. He growls when he sees her center, unclothed. He didn't know that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Oh, _fuck_ you, _cariña_." She smiles innocently at him.

"That's the plan, papi." He groans at her words. She succeeds at taking off his sweats, and he is a champion in the sport of undressing and getting them to a bed as fast as possible. As she lays on the bed, propped up with pillows, she gives him a sultry stare, and beckons him to approach. "You gonna fuck me good, Rafi?"

"No," he states simply. Her face twists into one of confusion. Until, of course, his face becomes eye level with her core, and he pokes a single finger in between her folds, making her hiss out in delight. "You like that?" He asks teasingly, with the signature smirk on his face that appears when he knows he's doing the right thing.

"More," she chokes out. "I want more, please, Raf." He's not in the mood for teasing today, no sir. Ergo, he sticks yet another finger inside of her, curling into her, hitting the spot that makes her arch off the bed. He starts off slow, but gradually increases in pace as she mewls out. In no time at all, she tenses up. Knowing what's coming, he quickly pulls out of her, making her groan in distaste and kick his head with her foot, making him chuckle.

He knows he's in control.

And she hates it, hates every second of it.

But all that hate dissapears as he pushes into her, making the pressure in her core increase slightly.

"Fuck, _papi_!" He goves her a devilish look yet again at her begging, and speeds up.

When Camila's close, he stops yet again.

"Oh, fuck you."

"That's the plan," he reiterates. :You know how often I think about fucking you?" He asks as he builds up speed. "All the goddamn time. I can't fucking focus when you're around, and you're around all the time. I've been thinking about this moment the whole day - you, so close to coming your brains out, all because of me. Fuck, _amor_ , you're so hot." His words were getting her off incredibly, and she's so close, so fucking close, until it all comes crashing down on her, making her moan out his name as her nails scratch his back. 

Seeing her fall apart because of him sends him over the edge, cursing in both Spanish and English into her shoulder, biting her so hard that she'll _defnitely_ have a bruise tomorrow.

When he pulls out of her, she rolls over to the side tiredly, fatigue consuming her. He gets up to use the bathroom, but comes back and throws a dress shirt on her as he pulls on the discarded pair of sweatpants. As she drifts off, she hears him speak a sentence that might actually make her burst into flames.

" _Mierda_ , I think I'm in love with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhh bad spanish and its kinda short but hey beggars cant be choosers ykno


	15. XV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The slower the kiss, the faster the heartbeat"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more fuckin oral sex????? love that 4 us 
> 
> also 2 chapter in 1 day im on a goddamn roll w this fuckin BOOK

He doesn't even have time to grab a drink, he's so turned on. 

Camila is an enigma, everyone knows this already. But she has never been more beautiful to him right now, in this moment: inside of a cab, practically keening for him in front of the driver.

Context? Oh, yes.

They both have a day off. Rafael has absolutely no idea how their schedules have aligned, but he's thanking every god in every pantheon that they have. When she shows up to his office smelling like sex, she admits to getting herself off with a vibrator shortly before arriving. This makes him, well, _angry_. He's right here! She can use him whenever she fuckin' wants, yet she still jerks off - to him, presumably. The mere thought of her fucking herself with an inanimate object to the thought of him makes his cock twitch. Ergo, he hails a cab, drags her in, and pays the cabbie double if he speeds.

This leaves them where they are right now: his hand on her thigh, tracing patterns everywhere except where it's needed most, and she's groaning softly, begging in spanish to tell him to make the cabbie go faster. And, well, he agrees. He waves a fifty in the mirror, and he can visibly see the driver straighten up, applying more pressure to the gas pedal. She sighs in relief as they finally pull up to Rafael's luxury apartment complex, and she practically runs out of the cab with the speed of the entirety of the Kenyan track team.

Rafael, on the other hand, waltzes out, pays the cabbie, and saunters up to her. "Patience is a virtue, _cariña_." And with that, they grab an elevator and go up to his room. She's immediately thrown against the kitchen island. “You trying to kill me?” He asks. She smirks at him, skimming his skin lightly with her fingertips

“Depends,” Camila murmurs with a shrug. “Is it working?”

“Is it working,” he echoes with a scoff. "Of course it's fucking working. When you're doing shit like that," he says, gesturing to her fingers, "it's enough to drive me wild."

She pulls her hand away and twirls her hair in her fingers. “So it’s my fault you can’t concentrate?” He groans at this.

“You’re damn right it is,” he growls.

“And you expect me to help with that… how?” she asks, feigning innocence. Rafael pulls her closer, and kisses her, soft and slow.

"I have a few ideas in mind." She chuckles.

"Always has to be your way, huh?"

He smiles and kisses again. But not on her lips. He goes straight for her most sensitive spot - her neck. One strategically placed nip and that's all it takes for her to groan into his ear, begging in spanish for him to fuck her. " _Dios_ , Raf." 

He laughs softly, but drags her to the nearest bedroom, where he furiously takes off her simple shirt and leggings.

However, what he's met with convinces him that Camila is an angel on earth. She's clad in a velvet bra and matching panties. She _knows_ that Rafael is a sucker for lingerie, and this really, really isn't helping him keep his composure. "Shit," he moans out. Almost on cue, she pulls off his suit pants, sinks to her knees, and pulls down his boxers.

“Fuck,” she says under her breath. She forgets how big he is sometimes. Not the biggest she’s ever had, but close.

Rafael doesn’t miss her hesitation. “Aw, you don’t have to blow me if it’s too much for you,” he assures her with mock concern.

Camila knows he means what he’s saying, but she glares up at him for his tone. She almost tells him _don’t flatter yourself_ , but they both know his cock is gorgeous, damnit, so instead she says, “When have you ever seen me turn down a challenge, papi?” and licks a long stripe up his member. This makes him tense up, and sooner rather than later she's got all of him in her mouth. She gags on him, and the sound of it and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes makes him all the more aroused, and it's driving him closer and closer to the edge. 

He doesn't want to come. He wants to fuck her. Hard. So hard that she can't remember any words in the English language except for his name. As soon as she runs her tongue over his slit, he's gone; in both body and mind. His senses can only feel her hot, wet mouth, and he can only think about spilling down her throat. In a shocking role reversal, he is the one to moan out in Spanish, begging her to finish him off. She chuckles internally, but speeds up, granting his wish as he spills down her throat. He pants for about half a picosecond, then pulls her up and dumps her on the bed unceremoniously.

He rips her panties off without a care in the world, but they're soaked to the touch, and goddamnit if that doesn't make his cock attempt to come back to life. He starts off just by staring at her: her lean body, lithe legs, and gorgeous tanned skin melting into a shaved mound in between her legs. She's breathtaking. 

But she's even more beautiful when she's coming because of him.

He slips a finger in. Then another. Then pumps slowly, all the while talking to her. "Trust me, now that you’ve had me, no other guy’ll ever satisfy you again. They won’t be as big as me, and they sure as hell won’t be as good.” He's boosting his own ego with his words, and she wants so badly to tell him off, but she won't. Because if she does he'll stop. And there'll be hell to pay if he stops.

Without a word from Camila, he keeps on speaking, hoping to goad her enough into begging for him. “No one's gonna comes like you will and won't want a round two. Or three. Or ten. I'm the only one that can get you off, hm? I'm the only fuckin' one, _hermosa_. That's it, you wanna come? You want me to make you come, is that it?" He says all of this in hushed tones, whispering it inot her ear. Goosebumps erupt around her body, but she refuses to beg. Until, of course, he stops talking and sucks on her clit for a microsecond. And then he stops.

And that's when she's had enough.

"Let me _come_ , Rafi, please!" But he shakes his head no. Removing his fingers, he buries his face in her core, humming in order to make vibrations come throughout her pussy. She's leaking, just for him, and the sight of her, moaning, begging, almost crying out in need is overstimulating all his senses to the max. He can't focus on anything else _but_ face fucking her. He slips his tongue inside of her heat, and she lets out a long moan of his name. "More, more, moremoremore," she says, words slurring together as she comes closer and closer.

He stops yet again, but replaces his mouth with his hands, and curls them into her. She's so, so close to coming all over his hands, and the slightest movement will make her explode. And then he says it.

"That's it, fall right off that edge for me...good girl, _cariña_." And she does. 

Camila doesn't moan, or groan, or scream. All her muscles lock up in tandem, and she tenses, turning to the side and muffling her moans into a satin pillow, left hand fisting the sheets. She comes. _Oh, does she come_. Rafael can practucally see her juices drip out of her at this, and honest to God he's ascended to some sort of astral plane because this sight alone is making him thank every deity for this moment.

She pants as she comes down from her high, and at seeing the wet spot on his blanket, her eyes flash with cockiness. They're well matched, Rafael and Camila (when it comes to the smirking department).

“I know, I know. You’re wondering how you got so lucky.” She simpers, still breathing hard. He grins at her, and moves to the bathroom to wash his hands. He emerges with an old Harvard shirt for her to wear, and a new blanket to replace the one she had climaxed over.

"You know, I'm quite poud of myself for making you come that hard." He starts, but she shuts him up with a kiss.

"Don't ruin it by being your cocky, dumbass self, Raf."

"Cocky? _Me_? Heaven forbid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more bad spanish!!!


	16. XVI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayo to make up for the five ish months that i didn't update this book, these 2 chapters finna be pure smut. porn with 2 different, v sparse plots. yw - we gettin to the case soon, dw

Rafael has a lot of different versions of his ideal afternoon. Drinking, watching critically acclaimed TV shows, drinking, hanging out with the squad at restaurants, drinking, reading, and did he mention drinking? He's done all of these things multiple times, and he's enjoyed it immensly every single time.

But, if he’s being perfectly honest, fingering Camila in his office beats out all those options by a long shot.

To the uninitiated, if Rafael is caught doing anything but work in his office, he's _done_. Unequivocally. He'll lose his job, definitely. But right now, he couldn't care less. It all started with a coat. She shows up in a trench coat that grazes her ankles, and a pair of tattered Vans. She knows that he's a sucker for juxtaposition, and the fancy coat-slash-definitely-not-fancy-shoes is making him very happy, to say the least.

She shows up, and, seeing him in his office chair, goes behind it and rubs his shoulders absentmindedly.

"Raf," she greets him. He looks up and smiles at her, a genuine, saccharine smile.

"Camila," he greets in return. "What brings you here?"

"I don't know, Raf. Actually - I do. I have a...surprise for you."

"What kinda surprise?" He questions. She grins at him. It was then that he felt her hands slipping from his shoulder, gently and carefully; her fingers spread as she lowers her hands from his shoulders to his chest. “Martínez” he whispers painfully.

“Barba” she purrs to him.

"You know we can't do that here, _nena_."

"How dare you assume, Rafael Barba, that I would jeopardize your career for a ride in your office?"

"Well, isn't that what you're here for?" She shakes her head teasingly.

"Actually," she starts, "I'm here to ask you a question." He stands up, turning to her, using his fingertips to press her into the edge of his desk.

"What kind of question?" He asks.

“How much of a lace fan are you?” She explaines, her hands returning to his chest, fingering his suspenders slowly.

“Depends on the look of it,” he answers, frowning gently as he took a quick look at her “Mind if you let me see?”

“I thought you’d never ask” she smirks.

The woman cocks her head to the left and her dark hair flops as she does so. She lifts one leg up, slowly curled it around his hip and pushes him closer to her. And then she lets her coat fall off, and Rafael goes into cardiac arrest. His mind absorbs the sight in front of him in flashes. Flash. The ivory lace bustier, a stark contrast against her tan skin. Flash. The black slip ons, heel pressing into his back. Flash. Her mussed hair, pushed to the left, lip caught in between her teeth. Flash. Her panties, already slightly damp.

 _Jesucristo_ , this wasn’t the best kind of idea, he knows that. He'd had heated make out sessions in the office before (with her, of course), but this was taking a very different direction. The way the soft lace felt against his fingers as he brushed against it, the way she looked at him, with bright, seductive eyes, and the way she smirked at him, waiting for him to activate.

“You can have any part of me you want, Rafi. My hands. My mouth.” She pauses, whispering against his ear, leaning into him. And the heat of her, God, Camila’s burning against him like an inferno of a fireplace. He's ready, so ready to just bend her over the desk and fuck her right here and now. But he doesn't.

Instead, he takes her panties off. She's shocked, presumably because she was more than ready to blow him. "Wh-what are you doing?" She beathes. "I wanted t-to get _you_ off." Apparently, he isn't interested in getting himself off, even though his erection is apparent. When he finally uses a singular finger to trace circles on her thigh, she makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “Jesus, Rafi…”

Sooner rather than later, she's warmed up to this idea, and is now ready to urge him on. “Take care of me,” she breathes in his ear, scalding his flesh like steam as she grinds down against nothing, desperate for friction, for touch, for something, “ _papi_.”

“You-” Something like a crazed chuckle cuts him off. He’s sure now he must be in the midst of a fever dream; no way in fucking hell any of this is real. He feels insane. “Fuck, _cariña_ …”

If anything, her words are fueling him. In a way, this is her way of teasing him, and goddamn it's working. As a result, he takes his thumb and rubs her clit, slowly, but then quick and short. She moans at this, a genuine moan, and then turns red at being outed as a sucker for his fingers. Rafael shudders at her sound, but nevertheless continues. "Hey now, shut up. You want the others hearin’ how naughty you are?” The squad's been outside in the waiting room, a result of Carmen telling them that he has a visitor.

Sure, this is good and all, but, to be frank, she wants his fingers inside of her, stat. Apparently Rafael gets the message as well - he must be some sort of mind reader - because he takes two fingers and slowly pushes them into her, curling slightly.

“Oh,” she moans as her surroundings blur together. “Jesus.”

“No, _amor_ ,” he says, voice deep and quiet.“My name is Rafael.” As he picks up speed, she moans and curses more and more, attempting to silence herself. But Rafael doesn't want that. “Let me hear you,” he says. “I want to hear how much you like it.” Well, shit. 

"I love it, Raf, love it so much, don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstop, I love you, _mierda_." She's not coherent whatsoever, and she doesn't even register the fact that she just admitted, out loud, to loving him.

But he isn't complaining.

Rafael's so, so close to just...coming in his pants. The fact that he hasn’t thus far must be some kind of miracle of human anatomy.

He speeds up, going faster and faster until he can hear the sound of his fingers hitting her skin, and her low moans of his name. Good Lord, this is turning him on so fucking much, and Rafael is _this_ close to using one hand to jerk himself off as he does this, but he isn't multitalented, and can barely walk and chew gum at the same time, never mind pleasure both of them.

"Rafi, Rafi, I-I'm close, please, fuck, keep going."

And he does. He takes his other hand to rub tight circles on her clit, sending her reeling off the edge, tensing up and moaning his name, long and low, and raised in volume. He coaxes her through it, all the while whispering dirty phrases in her ear in Spanish, making her twitch over his fingers. When she finally comes down from her high, she's twitching and cursing, so sensitive that every time her thighs quiver it makes her jump. “God, that was good,”

“Only good?” He smirks, and she laughs lightly.

"Fine...it was amazing, life changing, perfect, et cetera." he returns her smile, but it doesn't last long, seeing as his fingers suddendly find their way into his mouth. She stares, wide eyed at this exhibition, and groans softly in Spanish.

Rafael Barba is going to be the death of her, she's sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mOre bad spanish!!!!!!!!!! also this chapter moves rlly rlly fast idek why im a lil rusty but hey that'll change ykno


	17. XVII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if yall dont leave at least 2 new comments this shit aint getting updated lol i nEED SUPPORT PLS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the case!!!!!!

Rafael Barba is a grade - A idiot. Yes, he went to Harvard. Yes, he graduated _magna cum laude_. Yes, he's technically a millionaire. But yes, he's a fucking idiot when it comes to his personal life.

It's not like he's a genuine idiot. He can tie his shoes and toast PopTarts, _por el amor des Dios_. Yes, to be honest that isn't really the... _standard_ for intellect, but Rafael has his diploma framed in his office for a reason. This, however, isn't the reason why he's an idiot. He's an idiot because of one person, and one person only - Camila fucking Martínez. He is, for lack of a better phrase, whipped. As fuck.

And he's an idiot for being whipped. He can't focus on anything besides her. The Cryer case, the rest of the squad, himself, et cetera. He's smitten with her, everything about her. It's not bordering on obsession, of course - Rafael isn't insane, and after all she would never let it get that far. It's the fact that he said he loves her, it's the fact that she said she loves him, it's the fact that everything he does outside of the courtroom is for her, all for her.

She's running through his mind (what else is new) while he's down at the precinct, looking over files and pacing up and down in front of the squad, wringing his hands together and furrowing his brow, a tell-tale sign that he's neurotic, much less nervous. It's day three of the Kristi case, and they're no closer to figuring out the true events that transpired that night.

But all bets are off when she shows up, manila files in tow. Her leggings, slip ons and Harvard Law sweatshirt are hanging off her lithe frame as she struts into the bullpen, hips swaying slightly as she walks. Rafael always said that if she wanted to, she could be a model, but she's content with her current job - being his girlfriend, and helping others.

"Hey guys!" She greets, wide smile on her face. "You left some files at my place, Raf. Also, Amanda? I think you might still have my lipstick from the club last week." She greets them all individually, sidles up to Carisi, gives him a hug, gives Fin and Rollins a high five (one hand per person), hugs Benson tightly, and kisses him, hard. "Any developments? Anything I can help with?"

Carisi gets up at this, pulling a sheet of paper out of the manila folder Camila gave to them. "Hold up, guys, I think I've got something. In Kristi's first recorded testimony to us, she said that she didn't have consensual sex with either D'Amico _or_ his buddy Noel - the person you guys," he gestures to Rollins and Camila, "interviewed. But the video doesn't prove that. So what say we bring her back in here, have her go over the story one more time, and if it doesn't add up like it should, we drop the case." Benson nods, and Fin immediately goes to the phone, calling Kristi's mother.

"She chaged her story. She changed her fucking _story_!" Rafael is going to off himself. He's back in his office with Camila, going through her second testimony and cross referencing it with her first (with her help), when he comes across the chunk of information that has changed. "She said that she went into the bathroom with Bobby but didn’t tell us so that we wouldn’t think she was a slut. And then she said sorry. And _then_ she admitted to consensual sex with D'Amico, but that Noel came in like he knew they were there, but she wasn’t really okay with that."

"I'm going to kill her. I am actually going to commit homicide." She says wryly. He gives her a short, humorless laugh. 

"Yeah, you do that. Next thing I know, I'll have you on the stand for murder."

"What else did she say? Was that all?"

"Oh, of course not. Kristi explained that she was pretty drunk, and doesn’t remember everything. But, she heard the door open, and D'amico was gone. She was rinsing her face, and then Noel pushed her onto the sink and raped her from behind. She saw the look on my face and reassured us that she was telling the truth. Then, Rollins explained that they need to make sure the timeline is clear. The video shows Bobby left the bathroom first, and Carisi added that the problem is 10 minutes later Kristi is on the dance floor with her friend, acting like nothing happened. She saw the video and explained that she told them it was her friend Sheila's birthday. She says Noel raped her, she swore to god."

"Well that's not _that_ bad," Camila states. "At least she has a solid story now. It matches up with the video pretty well, and if she actually is telling the truth - and it seems like she is - then we might actually have a shot." He smiles at her, love filling his heart in a sappy way that he never thought would ever happen to him in his entire life. He stands up from his office chair, pulls Camila across the room, and locks the door to his office, turning out the lights and shooing away Carmen. "What are we doing, Rafi?" She asks teasingly. He never leaves work early.

"Right now? We're going to my place - I want some alone time."

* * *

They're asleep when they get the phone call. It's eleven at night, and after a bout of physical activity that shall remain nameless, they were knocked out, Rafael and Camila.

"'Lo? Liv? Yeah, I'm up. No, with 'Mila. Is it serious? Shit, yeah, on my way. Bring her? Cool." He shakes her awake. "Up, _cariña_. Rollins is in trouble." She bolts up in her bed at his words. Amanda and Camila had become great friends since going to that club for a stakeout, and she really loved and cherished her, both as a person and as a friend. She gets up, throws on Rafael's Harvard shirt and sweats, and bolts out to catch a cab with him. He's being briefed in the car, apparently, because his facial expressions keep changing over the phone, and he lets out one exasperated sigh after the other.

"What were you _thinking_?!" Benson shouts at her. "Arresting him? Out of nowhere? What the actual fuck?" Rollins has a stony expressions on her face, but relaxes slightly when she sees Camila. 

"Martínez, I almost got him."

"What do you mean, 'got him'?" And then Rollins explains. She explains how she went to his bar to grab a drink after a minor spat with Dodds, and how she hit on D'Amico until things got hot in the bathroom. Then, how Noel came in and what Bobby said, how he pleaded with her to finish them both off. How she said no, and how they tried forcing her. And, of course, how she elbowed them both in the groin and escaped, getting the entire ordeal on tape via body cam.

"Can we use it in court?" She asks.

Rafael fumes. "Just to recap," he begins. _Oh, she's in for it_. "You went to a bar that our prime suspect owned, flirted with our suspect, attempted to enage in contact with our suspect, and elbowed our suspect in the body, all while secretly recording? Goddamnit, Rollins, you're too much. Of fuckin' course we can't use it. You're a police officer - the whole video will be ruled as more prejudicial than pprobative, and it won't be admissible. Nice try, but you're gonna have to let him go."

She seethes at this, but turns on her heel, grabbing the handcuff keys from her pocket.

"We're going to have to go to court with what we have, Liv," he says. 

"Let the games begin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no bad spanish? what a miracle


End file.
